


Feelin' Like the Broodmother

by DevilOfWire



Series: Feelin' Like the Broodmother [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Blow Jobs, Boypussy, Cock Slut, Come Inflation, Come play, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Domestic Bliss, Eventual Smut, Feminization, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Humor, Knotting, Lactation Kink, Large Cock, M/M, Male Lactation, Marathon Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Oral Knotting, Oral Sex, Pregnant Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Size Queen Stiles Stilinksi, Slow Burn, Slut Shaming, Small Penis, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Werewolf Sex, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 119,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilOfWire/pseuds/DevilOfWire
Summary: An injured wolf coming to you one night is strange enough, but nursing it back to health only to find that it’s a human man—albeit, a very attractive one—is stranger still.But add figuring out what exactly it is that he was running from in the first place, and then having to fight tooth and nail to flee, fight, and survive against them while simultaneously dealing with falling in love with that aloof werewolf man?Well, let’s just say that it might be the strangest story one could ever hope to tell their half-werewolf children, hands down.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Feelin' Like the Broodmother [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926589
Comments: 63
Kudos: 373





	1. A Dark and Stormy Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> After wayyyyyy too long, here is finally my complete attempt at the very beginning of a Sterek longfic, based on my previous PWP fic! As all good longfics should be inspired from, I think ;D 
> 
> But really, I’m ashamed to admit I tried to plot out, and then write, this fic at least two times, with at least 60k words written and then scrapped total lol. So this lucky third go around, I’m just gonna say fuck it and post this chapter, because I’m at least a little proud of this, and that’s good enough for me! 
> 
> So yeah, not done with the entire fic yet, but I feel I have a solid enough idea for the fic to not abandon it, so that shouldn’t be a worry. Of course, who knows what could happen, but I will try my best to get this story done ^^

“Mommy, Daddy! Today’s my birthday!”

A rustle of papers as her father looks up. Gruffly puffing a “Happy birthday, darl-”

“No no, you know what that means! Come on, tell me the story again!”

“The story?” a tilt of the head from her other parent, welcoming the small creature with beckoning arms despite the feigned ignorance, “Which one? The one where we went hiking in the Rockies? Or the time your daddy nearly drove the jeep into the lake? Or-”

“The one about how you met!” she huffs, just like her father. Even at the meagre age of 5, she grew quickly impatient with her “mother”’s rambling.

“Oh! That one,” Stiles laughs. “Okay, okay,” he says, pulling Mandy into his lap. “Maybe I can tell the story just a little bit scarier this year-”

“Yay!”

“-But not too much scarier-”

“Boo!”

“Trust me,” a grumble comes from across the room over some letters, “you don’t want to spoil the scariest versions. Save ‘em for later.”

She crosses her arms, but seems to relent, waving Stiles on like a true Hale would.

Stiles snickers. “Okay, where do I begin... ah, same as always, I suppose! So, it was a dark and stormy night...”

~~~

As cliché an intro as it might be, it truly was, a dark and stormy night.

What a terrible night, especially one to be stuck babysitting. A truly horrible night, full of thunder and lightning, so very very frightening.

Truly, the only thing that got Stiles through it was Queen songs.

That, and a nice, mindless puzzle game on his phone. And a borrowed comforter. And an absolute angel of a kid who could apparently sleep through what might have been the first piece of the apocalypse.

Really, it wasn’t that bad.

Especially when Stiles looked outside. So dark, so horrible.

He looked back to his phone to slide two things together, but then he looked back to the sliding glass door pelted with rain, because wait a damn second!

He definitely saw something!

_... Something… _

Something? What was it?

Or... or did he?

Maybe it was nothing after all? Wouldn’t be the first time Stiles had imagined something in the dull of the night. Hell, one time he had his father drive all the way out from a burglary across the county just for a fucking raccoon. But that raccoon definitely acted more like a mountain lion than any raccoon had any right to act, so that wasn’t his fault!

So Stiles tried to quell his fears, snuggling further between the cushions and trying to focus on his game. Swiping up, right, up, right, and occasionally, left. Suffice to say, that alongside his internal repetition of “raccoon, not mountain lion,  _ raccoon” _ was not nearly enough to satisfy his overactive mind.

Stiles threw the blankets aside, and through the living room that was definitely at least five degrees too chilly to be without something more than shorts and a t-shirt, went toward the glass door.

The rain poured on it like an endless torrent, black as the night and making itself visible only as it flooded down the other side of the glass, desperate to be lit by the golden lights within the house. Definitely making Stiles glad that he was in here, and not out there.

Which did make him even more curious of the possibility of something being out there, actually.

Because even if it were a raccoon, it would be a very wet raccoon indeed, and not only was that sad—and maybe a little funny—but it was also possibly deadly! Who knew what ill effects this rain could have on a lowly, sick creature out there! Stiles might not call his dad, but he would definitely have to see to this poor raccoon himself!

And then there was movement.

Still black, but more of a charcoal than utter void. Whatever it was, it seemed to gleam under the warm lights. Just a small shine, and then it went back to the shadows of the night.

“Da-”

“Shh!” Stiles hushes around a pointed finger. “Don’t spoil it, Mandy! We still got a  _ lot  _ of story to go before we get to that! Anyway, where was I? Aw, right, ahem-”

Stiles gulped.

Now, maybe it was just a trick of the light, all this damn rain, but that... that definitely seemed a lot bigger than any raccoon. Even a particularly big one.

Definitely more like a mountain lion. An actual one.

Now, not only was the night dark, but it was indeed stormy. So, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when a bolt of lightning shot from just a few blocks away, in a fraction of a second making itself known as a boom of splitting air.

It shouldn’t have been surprising, as it had been happening for over an hour now, but Stiles still fell flat on his ass anyway.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, so loud and deafening, fast and racing, that it might as well have not been a heartbeat at all, but more of a constant thrum in his ears. The rush of blood, the confusion of finding himself suddenly on the floor, the mix of terror and confusion and some definite embarrassment, it turned one second into what felt like years.

One particular second seemed to stretch on forever.

Another round of lightning, but this time, it was right in the backyard. Just behind that movement, that gleaming darkness. But now it was no longer obscured by the night, no longer racing around the border of the yard.

No.

It was right in front of him.

Separated only by a couple panes of glass, was a gigantic beast.

Its hulking mass was only made larger by the fact that Stiles was only on his elbows, forcing him to stare up and right into teeth as white as ivory.

Canines as long as one of his fingers.

Stiles would like to say he didn’t scream.

Especially now, to little five-year-old Mandy, looking fully enticed and yet brave all at once, like if she were there, she definitely wouldn’t have screamed.

“But, oh,” Stiles has to say to his daughter half the size of him, “I definitely did scream. I screamed so loud it took my voice away, so I only really did it for a second, but that was enough.”

She laughs at him, knowing exactly where the story is going, so she feels none of the horror he had.

Well, maybe she doesn’t know  _ exactly _ where the story is going. And besides, this was the five-year-old version, not the four-year-old, so with some of those training wheels removed, perhaps she would feel some horror yet!

But getting back to the story, Stiles definitely felt horror. Real, true horror.

This, this  _ thing,  _ it towered above him, all fangs and claws and glowing red eyes, seeming entirely unperturbed by that very embarrassing, very girly scream from the human beneath it.

Frozen solid, Stiles could only watch in shock as the four-legged beast began to move.

It brought a paw up to the glass, and after a few beats, Stiles got it.

And the horror was dispelled.

Suddenly, he could see the “monster” for what it really was. And it really, really wasn’t much of a monster after all.

It was a wolf.

Skinny from malnutrition, ribs showing through its fur seeming mangy and sparse at its chest; its leg shaking from either the cold or the mere effort of scratching at the glass, or both, or something else entirely; a haze in those blood-red eyes that turned them from menacing to pitiful.

Stiles rose slowly to his knees, and then to his feet, trying to keep his distance from the door. Even standing, the wolf’s shoulders came up to his waist, more the size of a small horse, or a large pony. Certainly bigger than any wolf he’d ever seen, let alone a God damned raccoon.

He watched its paw slide up and down the door, and he knew what it meant. Like a mangy mutt done with the yard, this huge wolf-beast was merely begging to come in.

Why? How? For what reason? Stiles obviously had no idea.

But he did know that there was no way that was going to happen. Oh no no, not here, in the house of strangers—in a town as small as Beacon Hills there was no such thing, but that’s not his point—who were paying him to watch over their four-year-old son—who was way cooler than his age, but again, not the point.

But looking at that wolf, Stiles felt some weird pull in his heart. Like he couldn’t just leave the thing to die out there, or at least for its fate to be separate from his and uncertain. Like he had to do something.

Something. Do something. But what?

Stiles looked at the wolf, who looked back at him.

Then Stiles ran the opposite direction.

He swore he could hear something between a yelping and a desperate howl behind him, but he ignored it. Hard to hear over the pouring rain, and his rushing veins, anyway.

He checked the bedroom, and, yep! That kid is definitely out like a light! Guess setting up a pillow fort and roleplaying a knight for two hours will do that to you.

Stiles quietly shut the door, turning off the hallway light as he took out his phone from his pocket, clicking the first number in his recent calls list.

“Uh, hi, Mr. and Mrs. Davis? Oh, just Mrs. Davis? Okay then, well, uh- no, no! Everything’s absolutely fine, just perfect! Ben’s fast asleep right now, and let me tell ya, he makes a great hero, buuut I think he might’ve accidentally broken your microwave—unless it’s supposed to not close all the way unless you really hit it like that?—Anyway, long story and not what I was calling for so we can talk alllll about it later, but I just wanted to call to see if it would be, um, at all alright for me to go home, cause I’ve got a bit of a family emergency.”

Stiles paused, the wolf still staring at him, ears twitching at the response, it seemed.

“Oh,” Stiles grinned despite the fact that no one could see him, “no, my dad’s alright! I mean, probably, that’s, uh, why I need to go home! Gotta check on the old man, make sure he’s a-okay, mentally, physically, emotionally, what with this awful storm and all, so...”

“Okay, thanks!” Stiles chirped, “yeah, I’ll definitely send him your prayers, and you can just, I don’t know, pay me, don’t, totally up to you! Gotta go, see you soon and have a wonderful rest of your night, Mrs. Davis!”

He clicked the call off, sighing to himself. “Now, to deal with that wolf-”

But just after Stiles threw his phone in his pocket, he looked up to see-

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

“Welp,” he pursed his lips, and in his modern retelling, skims over this next line:

“Fuck me, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	2. Apply Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Thanks a lot for your guesses comments on this first chapter :D 
> 
> Even if you don’t wanna comment, that’s fine with me! The 50+ kudos/subs on this fic are encouragement enough to write a measly chapter a week for you all ^^ 
> 
> So, without further ado, a slightly longer chapter! Hope you’ll like it, even if it is still mostly just settin things up, for now!

Stiles also skims over his rambling for the next half an hour drive through sheets of rain and thunder, although he remembers it as clear as yesterday:

“Stupid damn wolf, making me come all the way home for absolutely nothing... Pah, I wonder if maybe those cookies Mrs. Davis made might have been edibles after all, wouldn’t put it past her—middle-upper class woman bored in modern suburbia, after a-”

Stiles stopped, because that’s when he saw it.

Waiting for him on his doorstep, staring back at him over its bony, but immense, shoulder.

The wolf.

Stiles blinked twice, then turned off his engine.

“There was definitely something in those cookies...”

Stiles was torn between running to get on to the porch and under the roof to be protected from the torrents of rain, and walking slow because there’s a God damn huge wolf on that same porch.

Ultimately, he ended up doing a combination: quickly jogging up the slick length of the driveway, and then coming to a stop just before the wooden steps.

Looking up at the wolf.

Staring right back at him.

Every second he stood in that thunderstorm, the rain soaked him even further. But he hardly noticed.

Because what a large, almost unholy beast was right before him, standing between him and his own home.

Its thoughts and intentions entirely unknowable, as it hardly moved, other than the slight twitch of its hazy red eyes, blinking a fraction of a second, the slight movement of its bony chest under oily, diseased fur.

The sound of tires interrupted them, as they both looked back upon the street.

Yep, sure enough, that was his dad’s police car.

He looked back at the porch, then back down the street to the oncoming vehicle, growing nearer and nearer with every millisecond.

In the best case scenario that his father didn’t blame him for the mangy mutt on the porch, the fate of the wolf was still up in the air. Maybe the pound? Did they have those for wolves? No, he didn't think so. L

Either way, before the headlights penetrate the dark to light up the house, Stiles had made his decision.

He hardly knew how it happened. One second he was on the porch, heart in his hand and grimacing as he knew what he had to do, and the next he was inside, and the wolf’s nowhere to be seen.

There was a fuzzy memory of throwing himself forward, as far from the wolf as he could manage—which wasn’t very much, considering it was blocking the front door—twisting the freezing doorknob, the second there was a crack, a rush of black in half a second down the hallway and up the stairs.

But before he could even really collect himself, his dad was fast upon him.

“Fuckin’ ‘nother DUI, if I have to do another sobriety test and sit with an incoherent idiot for half an hour, I swear to G- Oh! Hey kiddo,” his father sighed, the jingle of keys as he squeezed around his son dumbly standing in the middle of the entryway.

“Something happen, Stiles? Weren’t you babysitting tonight?”

“O-oh yeah, I was, emphasis on the was part!”

“You get the kid killed or?”

“Dad!” Stiles shouted, “No, Ben was just fine. Got him to bed and everything, so the Davises let me go home so I could make sure the storm didn’t do anything to the house or anything. Or you.”

His dad smiled a bit, walking into the kitchen to get himself a drink. “That’s sweet of them, to think of the old sheriff.”

“Hey, I thought of you first! Anyway, uh, yeah, long night, lot of rough-housing with an energetic four-year-old, you know how it is-”

Stiles tried to leave—to see where exactly that wolf had gone off to—but found himself unable to move. He looked back and down to see that, yep, his dad had his hand wrapped around his skinny wrist, and even to a middle-aged beta, Stiles clearly had no chance fighting that. Damn biology.

“Hey, hey, what’s the rush, Stiles? You know, I know at the best of times you’re not the most normal-acting son anyway-”

“Hey-”

“But tonight, you’re acting especially... flighty, Stiles. Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

Stiles looked at his dad, who looked down to him with such concern that it was almost unreal. A heart-to-heart was rare enough, but seeing his father strangely sentimental, it made Stiles wonder if maybe something happened to him, as well. Maybe not a weird giant wolf, but maybe some kind of scene that reinforced the fleetingness of life or something like that.

Stiles just laughed. “Me? Something happen? Are you joking, Dad?” he tugged on his own hand, and found he could slip it out of his father’s loosened grip now. “You know nothing ever happens in Beacon Hills, especially not to little old me! Nah, I’m just tired. And this storm-” a well-timed crash of thunder in the near distance- “has me a little on-edge, I guess. I’ll be all better in the morning, promise!”

“Love ya, Dad!” Stiles finished, flashing a grin before bounding up the stairs two at a time.

His father blinked around the corner of the kitchen wall, standing dumbly for a second after his strange eighteen-year-old.

Then he sighed, and switched the beer for whiskey.

Because when it came to Stiles, there was always something going on.

He could only hope that this time, it wouldn’t end in a string of murders and arson.

But ya know, that was just hoping.

~~~

“Alright, Wolfie,” Stiles whispered, “I know you’re here somewhere- Ah!”

Stiles slapped a hand over his mouth, hoping to God that his little scream was subtle enough to not be suspicious enough to his father downstairs. Thankfully, there was only the rustle of a newspaper from below. Clearly, he couldn’t be bothered at this point.

With that worry dashed, Stiles turned back to the cause of his peep.

The giant wolf. Once more.

Facing him, from all the way down the hall. Stiles watched with wide eyes. Then the creature turned its paws—more dragging them on the hardwood than stepping—and marched straight into Stiles’ room.

“Hey!” Stiles shout-whispered desperately after the wolf, chasing after it. “Where do you think you’re going?!”

He entered his own room, and could only stare at the beast within. His room seemed tiny in comparison—no, it was just that the wolf was huge, really—its withers all the way up to Stiles’ waist, just... standing there.

Menacingly.

Really, though, the wolf showed no other signs of aggression. No sleek ears or heightened hackles or curled lips, none of that. But that’s what Stiles knows now, he tells his daughter. What he didn’t know then.

For Stiles was a naïve idiot back then, and for all he knew, he’d just let a monster into his house that was about to lunge for his throat.

A good minute passed, the most torturous minute of Stiles’ entire life, at least up to that point.

The wolf breathed in deep—Stiles grimaced, this is it, he thought, I’m a goner—and then let it out.

Sighing.

It raised a paw, and seemed to motion sideways. Back and forth at its quadruped version of a wrist, just the slightest movement.

Stiles thought it almost funny. Like seeing it paw at the door, it was such an almost... domestic sign. Such a hulking beast showing such human displays, it was at once uncanny and amusing.

Stiles got it eventually.

“Close it.”

He took only a glance over his shoulder, and, sure enough, his bedroom door was still open.

Thank God his father was still busy reading the paper and getting tipsy, he thought, closing it behind him, front to the strange wolf the entire time. He could’ve been done for, right then and there!

It was only then that the wolf moved from the centre of the room, looking around for a second before making its way towards the walk-in closet.

“Now, wait a second...” Stiles muttered. “Don’t you get you can’t just barge into my room and go wherever you want? That’s my closet, mine! Not yours, you weird little wolf!”

The wolf ignored him, pawed open the folding doors, and marched on in. The logical conclusion to draw was that it was a wild animal and couldn’t understand English—its little motions perhaps trained from human interference in its past—but for some reason, Stiles got the creeping suspicion that that wasn’t the cause.

No, this wolf was ignoring him on purpose.

Stiles sounded crazy, even he knew that in his own head, hearing that thought, but...

For some damn reason, he really believed it.

With no other choice, Stiles rounded the corner to see the wolf once more. And there it was, lying on his floor, directly facing the door, paws tucked under its head as it merely stared at him once more.

Even though it was lying there—and a good few feet shorter for it, thankfully—it didn’t seem all that comfortably. Actually, it seemed rather uncomfortable. The stiffness of its joints, a slight haze of pain in its eyes that blinked slowly. Stiles couldn’t help but feel bad for it.

“Is this...” Stiles whispered, taking a tentative step into his own closet, “alright..?”

The wolf didn’t move, but for its red eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark of the closet. And Stiles wasn’t the biggest fan of that, so he slowly, oh-so-slowly, leaned toward the light switch, and turned it on.

They both blinked for a second, sharing the daze of a sudden bright light. But the wolf adjusted first, and it was then that all of Stiles’ worst fears came true.

Still unable to see, Stiles could only hear, feel, as the wolf rushed to a stand once more, and came right towards him.

Almost instantaneously, that dark fur was against his hands, pushing against him, and it was like his heart skipped a beat. He had no idea what was happening, but he could remember those sharp teeth, claws, and as he felt himself pushed to the ground under massive, heavy paws, he knew what it meant.

This wolf could kill him. Easily.

Stiles’ eyes finally adjusted to the brightness, and with fast breath, racing heart, he looked up to the wolf now pinning him down to the floorboards. Those searing red eyes, set canine lips hiding fangs as sharp as knives, pitch fur deceiving from inhumanly strong muscles beneath.

Oh, yes. It was definitely going to kill him.

It began to stir once more, lowering itself so it cast even more of a shadow on Stiles’ face, who didn’t know whether to close his eyes, or watch as the beast ripped his throat out as a final image.

And then Stiles watched it flop right down next to him.

“What?” Stiles couldn’t help but gasp aloud, drawing in all the breath he hadn’t dared to the last few seconds that were part of the new most torturous minute of his life. The amount of records this wolf was breaking, it was Olympic. If only it didn’t mean Stiles might have a heart attack come the next one.

But getting back to the terrible task at hand, he could only look on with confusion at the wolf now lying on its side, so close he could feel the immense heat spilling off of its body.

If its still-staring eyes were anything to go by, the wolf was still quite conscious. Which meant... it didn’t want to kill him?

“Are you for real?” Stiles asked, having to stay quiet despite his pending rage. “Why did you have to do that? I thought I was going to die!”

The wolf only blinked. But longer this time, purposeful, squinting. It was dismissing his fear, like a fruit fly swatted away.

Stiles groaned.

He felt something shift, and realized his hands were still upon the wolf.

He looked down. Yep, those were definitely his fingers pressed into this creature’s bony ribs.

But... how? How could this wild animal just let him do something like this?

He looked up. Wasn’t the wolf’s stomach its most vulnerable part? The part with all the guts and everything?

The wolf only stared down at him, blinking slowly. Then it struggled on the floor once more, turning, and suddenly it was entirely on its back, long legs sticking ridiculously into the air.

And then Stiles was forced to remember the wolf's ill health, in the most direct of ways.

Because that was the largest wound Stiles had ever seen on a living being. And he’d seen many a car crash aftermath.

“Oh!” Stiles gasped, his fingers moving away from the wolf’s injured torso instinctively.

The wolf above him let out a pained breath. It was obvious how much pain it had to be in, with such a fresh, bleeding injury that seemed nearly deep enough to go to bone.

Stiles briefly wondered how exactly such a large wound could happen. It looked sharp, clean-cut, like something a knife would make, but certainly there was no knife large enough to do something like this. And more importantly, how wasn’t this wolf dead? Such a deep wound, it should’ve been minutes until it bled out, surely, but oddly there didn’t seem to be too much bleeding despite the severity of the injury, like it had all clotted or was healing already...

The wolf whimpered, and Stiles attention was pulled right back to the moment at hand. There would be a time for theories, and explanations, but not now.

Now, he had to act.

~~~

Of course, Stiles is obviously no doctor, nor vet. But there was no way he was going to either of those to treat a wild wolf when wolves shouldn’t even be in the damn area, and then there might be questions and his dad would probably get called, and who knows what such a strange, eerily intelligent creature like this “wild” beast might do.

So, he treated it himself.

A quick scurry of feet and claws back and forth from the bathroom to clean out the wound. A dry towel. Some petroleum jelly. And then a roll of gauze way too thin so he had to spend half an hour just wrapping it around the wolf’s chest easily the size of a large barrel.

It had taken over an hour, but finally, Stiles could sit back on his bed, looking at the wolf in his closet, just lying there.

It was still dirty and hungry, but with the wound addressed and in a warm room, the animal could now seemingly sleep peacefully, no shaking or whimpering or anything. At the very least, they were signs enough that Stiles was no longer worried of it just dying outright.

So, with that, Stiles passes out on his bed at 2 AM.

Not a minute too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Next chapter might finally get to human Derek! … Maybe! We’ll see what happens when I actually write it lol. Ty for reading! <3


	3. The Man Without

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos and whatnot! ^^ Means the world to me :D

Stiles woke slowly, blinking his eyes under the morning sun blearily.

A dream still fresh in his mind, a wild one, with black, glossy fur, fangs, blood, bandages.

Thank God it was just a dream, he thought, with a hint of a smile on his face striped from the blinds beside him.

And just as his eyes really began to work under all the sun, so did his mind.

Oh.

That wasn’t a dream. That wasn’t a dream at all.

No, that was all real.

Horribly, painfully, terrifyingly  _ real. _

Fuck.

Stiles pushed himself out of bed, the cool remaining from night utterly forgotten on his bare legs.

He remembered the previous night in a flash: throwing his shorts and shirt into the hamper, shoving them under a few old towels to hide them from plain sight.

In the present, he went to the corner, riffled through the clothes bin. And sure enough, there they were: a matching set from his fuzzy memories of last night, dried blood caked black upon them here and there.

But, of course, it was nothing compared to the sheer amount of fresh, red blood from that giant wolf, impossible to forget for the strangeness and the horror of it.

The proof of it all being real was right before him, in these clothes in his hands, stained with that wolf’s blood.

But it was still hard to believe.

Because when he turned around, it was the same as it had been the moment he woke up:

The fucking God-damned wolf was gone again.

~~~

Stiles was restless.

For the first time in a long time, he almost wished there was a job to do. Mowing someone’s lawn, watching over their drooling, hyper-active kids, anything. Anything would be better than the torture of... nothing.

But it was definitely more than nothing. Something. It was something.

He was thinking of the missing wolf, of course. How could he not? How could a wolf enter, bleed, and sleep in his damn bedroom, and then vanish, almost without a trace but for some stained clothing?

It just didn’t make any sense! It had to have gone somewhere, but... where?

Stiles had almost begun to question his very sanity. Maybe he had made it up, after all? Some fever dream, maybe a cold by the rain, and he’d just spilt ketchup on his shirt and dreamt up some convoluted story to explain it all?

No, of course not. That would be stupid.

It was real. It had to be. It felt all so real, was still so fresh in his mind. All that terror, the feeling of that pitch fur, those remnants of muscle beneath it. Too solid to be a daydream, nothing particularly illogical to call it out as a nightmare other than the obvious terrors, and the impossibility of a wolf with seeming sentience.

But, God!

Stiles kicked the ottoman in front of him, crossing his arms. Then he felt like a child. Pouted just like one.

And here he fucking was, watching re-runs of shitty TV shows from the 90s to waste his time on a fine, warm, post-thunderstorm Saturday, getting all pissy about a weird ass wolf, when really, he should be thankful it was out of his hair now.

Yes, he should be thankful. It was gone, dealt with. Just like an actually pleasant kid you might babysit, nice while it lasted, and maybe you’ll miss them a little, but in reality, it’s better to be rid of.

Stiles nodded to himself on the couch. Yes, he was right. It was better this way, really.

It. Was. Better.

He jumped off the couch and onto his feet with a fury, shutting the TV off and then throwing the remote right back on the cushions, white-hot rage bursting through his veins.

Yeah, no, fuck this. He felt even more restless than ever, “settling” like that.

He walked out the front door, feeling even more frustrated than he had before his useless little thinking session about the whole thing.

Because he wanted answers! Why did that wolf show up, why to Stiles of all Beacon Hills civilians—just a regular old omega, the last weird remnant of his high school friend group that remained in this sleepy town—and why did it follow him, seem to trust him?

And, most importantly, where in the hell had it gone?!

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Stiles waved without even looking. Just some neighbour. Friendly town, local babysitter, it was like being a mini-celebrity. Stiles might have been a deadbeat, but it seemed doing menial chores for anyone who asked made up for it to most. Anyway, back to those thoughts-

Wait a second.

Stiles stopped mid-step, then put his foot down and promptly turned on his heel to look at that voice.

That voice that he definitely didn’t recognize.

And he would recognize any voice in Beacon Hills.

“And when I say your daddy was heart-stoppingly gorgeous, I mean it!”

A rustle of papers. Clearly at least a little flustered.

Mandy giggles with excitement on Stiles’ lap, “Was he?” she squeals, almost as though she’s just as happy to embarrass her father, as well.

“Oh, yes! He had hair just as dark, but much longer! Probably because he couldn’t get a haircut the past few months, but I still thought he was a total heart-throb!”

“Really?”

“Really! He might not look it now,” Stiles smirks with all the half-assed passive-aggressiveness he can manage, “but back then, whew! Like one of those A-list actors in an action movie, but in real life! Kinda unbelievable, to be honest! Anyway, so yeah, I was speechless when I first laid eyes on him, but back to the story...”

“... thank you.”

“W-wha?” Stiles blinked a few times back to reality.

“I was just saying,” the very, very handsome stranger was indeed saying, even with those perfectly thin lips and all, “that I should thank you.”

Stiles was still finding it hard to focus on anything other than gawking at this model before him, but managed, confusion overcoming his daydreams, “Thank... thank me? Me?”

“Yes,” he replied simply, with a lovely gruff, deep voice. If the instant attraction didn’t make it obvious from the get-go, that voice would give his alpha status right away. Sure enough to say, the omega in Stiles swooned, and it was pretty hard to think over its swirling fantasies seeming to make the entire world somehow brighter.

“But... what did I do, exactly, to be thanked, by um, you?” Stiles tilted his head.

The man paused to chuckle, just a few huffs, but that seemed to be the best he could do, so Stiles called it a laugh anyway.

“What did you do? You saved my life.”

What?

Wait a second…

Was this guy... crazy?

Aw, such a good-looking guy, too! Well, can’t have it all, Stiles supposed-

Stiles eyes widened.

“You... but, you’re a, and that was-”

“A wolf. Yeah. I know, it doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I just wanted to thank you before I left. What’s your name?”

Stiles’ face was contorted into pure confusion, his mind conflicted even on whether it should be experiencing bewilderment or shock or maybe trying to logically piece this whole thing together, but any way it went, it just didn’t make any sense.

This tall, fair-skinned, muscular Greek statue of a man was that mangy mutt of last night? If something like that were even possible in legitimate reality, how could they possibly be the same creature? This person showed no signs of malnutrition, none of the sickness or disease that wolf had...

“Stiles,” he finally spit it out. At least he still knew his own name.

“Derek.”

Well, that was surprising. Surprising enough, in fact, that Stiles took a literal step back on the sidewalk.

Then he realized his rudeness, and laughed awkwardly.

“Derek? You got a name? Is that... the name for the wolf, too?”

“Sure.” The man- Derek, paused. Then let out a sigh. “I don’t really know why I want to tell you this, really, I should just be heading for some place else soon as I can, but, I don’t know. Usually I don’t look like that. Usually it’s more of a half thing, if that makes any sense.”

“Like a werewolf,” Stiles said. Very matter-of-factly. “A werewolf man. Two-legged and furry and stuff, right?”

“Yeah-”

“Like all the movies. Okay, I see what’s going on! Haha, very funny prank,  _ Derek,  _ if that even is your real name! Now, go ahead and book it to the next town and take this funny story with you, and all my memories of last night, too, because clearly you’re crazy, or I am, or we both are! Whatever! And you’d better get going, too, before I start to question what might have happened to my drinks to cause such strange hallucinations, ‘cause my dad’s the sheriff, after all!”

Stiles started to turn right back to his own house he’d just left from, but a hand stopped him.

He looked down. A strikingly similar situation to last night, and the feeling was just the same as he looked up to the face belonging to that hand: something like guilt, guilt for lying, but it wasn’t even a lie he was really responsible for, either time.

This whole thing was just too weird for him to be responsible for.

“No, not like the movies. I mean, yeah, the concept is the same, but a lot of the details are different. I can control it, for one. I mean, usually, last night I was just way too tired and nearly dead to, but- God, why am I telling you this?”

Derek’s broad shoulders slumped down, that large hand pulling back from Stiles’ wrist and over Derek’s face.

“You can just... go, if you really want to. Believe it never happened, whatever makes you happy. I’ll be fine. Thanks for saving my life. If I could give you something, anything, I would. But I got nothing.”

And with that, he turned around and began to walk down the street.

A fish out of water, with his black leather jacket and dark jeans on a small-town summer suburban street. He clearly didn’t belong here.

But where would he belong?

It seemed to Stiles, as he stared on at the man steadily walking away from him, and right out of his life, that Derek wouldn’t belong anywhere. Not a small town, not a big city, not even in a gang of other leather-jacket wearing models.

No, there was something off about him. Maybe it wasn’t so much him or his appearance or fashion as the air, aura, around him.

Because he was a werewolf.

As bizarre as that was, unreal, impossible, incomprehensible, all the evidence of the past day made it obvious that it was real. As real as the pavement he stood on, and Derek was using to distance himself from him. As real as the wind or the smell of mowed grass or the sky above.

No, it didn’t make any sense.

But werewolves were real. And Derek was one.

And Stiles had saved his life.

And... and it couldn’t just end here.

Stiles had always had an insatiable curiosity within him, and of course, now of all times, when a real supernatural phenomena stared him in the face and then let him off the hook, that just wouldn’t do.

He needed to know more. Needed to know why, what, when, where, how.

He  _ needed _ it.

And there was only one way to figure it all out, and quite possibly—definitely, he tells Mandy—change the trajectory of his life forever:

“Hey!”

Black boots paused on the sidewalk, as a smaller set of tennis shoes began to accelerate to catch up to them.

“Wait up! Maybe there’s something you can give me after all!” he laughed.

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	4. Three’s a Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> The bad guys are introduced, and now the story can really start!

In the next few weeks, Stiles learned a lot about werewolves.

Mainly the way they worked: things like how normally, Derek could’ve and should’ve been able to transform to and fro wolf form on command, and stay between in a half-man, half-wolf form he usually preferred, but due to becoming weak for... reasons, he couldn’t.

And other things like how they had the typical super-strength, -speed, -hearing, regenerative healing powers, weakness to silver, etc. etc. All that’s been heard before.

But what Stiles never got to hear about, was those... reasons.

Whenever he even began to ask, or even  _ potentially _ bring it up, Derek would become ice-cold and distant. Sometimes he would literally walk away, even. Usually not, usually Stiles knew to knock it off, or Derek could switch subjects, but if he were in a bad mood...

And it just so happened that that fateful day, Stiles had had it. And so had Derek.

Stiles was done with hinting at things, but never getting a clear answer. Hell, he would’ve almost preferred if Derek straight up lied to him, told him he got hurt chasing a cat or some dumb shit like that. But no, it was always a grumble, something under his breath, or leaving the room, but never any actual hint of an answer.

Derek was done being asked, even if not straight forward. He appreciated Stiles’ endless curiosity—thought it quite amusing—and it made for good conversation, but maybe a little  _ too good, _ if you know what he means.

Stiles was annoying. That’s what he meant.

So that day, he now tells his starry-eyed daughter, was the day his life changed. Not that it hadn’t already.

But that day,  _ that _ day, was the day that it irreversibly, one-hundred percent, flipped right upside-down. He went from a regular old nobody with no real direction in some small town to having his life completely uprooted, everything he knew, everyone he loved, suddenly ripped from him in the blink of an eye.

But the start of the day was rather uneventful.

He woke up, got dressed, brushed his teeth, had breakfast. And seeing as there were no gigs available, he then went to the dog park to meet up with the one and only Derek Hale, secret werewolf. It was still a bit unbelievable, even though he’d seen him as a wolf with his own eyes just a few weeks ago, was reminded every day that it wasn’t just a fever dream in the definitely real conversations Derek had with him about what being a werewolf was like.

That day, however, was different.

Maybe it was the overcast sky, the threat of rain without actually making true of it. The tension in the air, like static electricity building, but lightning never actually striking. The heat of the summer day not yet yielding to fall, fluctuating between just uncomfortably too warm without a breeze, and then too cold when one did come.

Maybe it had nothing to do with the weather, and was simply the result of a build-up that had been lasting for weeks, finally boiling over in an inevitable argument.

Maybe it was because Derek proposed that they go fishing. And maybe it was that Stiles actually agreed, for some dumb fucking reason.

Fishing, oh, fishing. What a boring fucking waste of time. In Stiles’ humble opinion, of course.

For fuck’s sake, he had ADHD! How was he supposed to just stand there with a stupid, huge ass fishing rod, and wait for something to happen after, oh, half an hour? It was insanity!

He recalls looking to Derek, trying to think of some way to pass time with pleasant conversation, but finding nothing would come to his brain, nor be voiced on his tongue.

It was that building irritation. That itch that could never be scratched, making him pout his lip and thump his foot on the grass by the lake.

It was making everything that. Much. Worse.

And he just couldn’t take it anymore!

He shouted that, except in the first-person, as he threw his fishing pole down into the mud, falling back on his ass and covering his face with his hands, trying to rub some sense into his eyes.

But instead, all he saw when he opened them was Derek’s stupid, cool face staring down at him, apparently unaffected. And his eyes still stung.

“Tell me!” Stiles shouted, pointing accusingly, just like he was taught never to do. “Tell me the truth right fucking now, Derek!”

“Tell you what?”

Stiles growled, as well as a human could, not being a werewolf and all. “You know what I’m talking about! Tell me the fucking truth, tell me why you showed up and followed me, tell me why you were halfway to death! Tell me right now!”

Derek looked down to his feet, then the lake, and then back to Stiles. All without changing his expression at all.

Stiles groaned, balling his fists before splaying them on his dirt-covered pants, finding even that irritating. “You’re not going to tell me?” he seethed, standing up. “Fine. Then you don’t have to tell me anything at all, anymore.”

“Stiles,” Derek finally said, brow furrowed in concern as he dropped his rod. “What do you mean-”

“I mean that a relationship-a-a friendship, is built on communication and trust, right?! And you won’t communicate with me about this and a lot of other shit in your past, and clearly that’s because you don’t trust me! I tell you everything: how I crashed my dad’s car last year, how I accidentally killed my friend’s goldfish in elementary school, and literally all the embarrassing things I’ve done in my entire life! And you won’t tell me one thing about who you really are, or were, besides this werewolf shit, or surface-level stuff like what food you like!”

Stiles threw his hands up, walking away, even as he shouted over his shoulder, “So I’m done! I am absolutely, one-hundred percent, done-”

“Stiles!”

Before he could even turn at that piercing tone of voice, Stiles felt his world suddenly engulf in pain.

The wind rushed from his lungs in an audible grunt, his eyes open but the world dark, everything but the sensation of hurt and confusion seeming impossibly distant for a moment.

Then he caught his breath, gasping in air and blinking.

He found himself on the grass, although he had no idea how he’d gotten there. He looked up, heart pounding like never before in his entire life, as he was filled with true terror.

And this time, he had a reason to be so terrified.

Towering above him was a man- no, not a man. An abomination of a humanoid covered in russet fur, standing on two legs, but hunched at the waist, with long, muscular arms. As though it wasn’t meant to stand, but had somehow overcome its own nature in order to.

Atop its tall, ungodly body was a monstrous head, two glowing eyes of scarlet, furrowed with rage, glinting with fury.

Its long snout of a mouth began to open, and a similar, canine mouth was revealed. But unlike Derek’s wolf form, it was even more intimidating: sharp, jagged incisors and rows of needle-sharp teeth.

And this time, it seemed that the canine really was going to take a bite out of him, this time.

But before its powerful maw could reach him, something else crashed into the werewolf, sending both of them hurtling far off into the edge of the empty dog park.

Stiles collected himself enough to stand, taking steps back without even realizing, as he watched the scene before him with a mix of horror and awe.

Two beasts of man, one black as night, the other even larger and deep red, fighting at an inhuman speed. One millisecond one of them would be pinned down, then with a roll and slash of claws, the position would be reversed, in a constant battle of dominance, life or death.

Stiles could hardly tell what was going on, but he knew that whatever it was, whatever just happened to him, this was bad.

And as he turned to hear the snap of a branch in the woods behind him, it cemented the feeling.

Oh, this was very, very bad.

But instead of launching at him and promptly ending his fragile mortal life, a ghostly comet of white leaped from the forest with a blood-curdling cackle, headed right toward the two still struggling in the clearing, to aid its larger friend, most likely.

But before the white werewolf could finally overpower Derek with the sheer strength of numbers, Stiles felt himself being pulled into something, the press of fur against his side.

He began to yell, but two black talons immediately shut him up, forcing him to look up and realize that he wasn’t being kidnapped.

Well, he was, but it was Derek, so that was probably better than anything else, at least.

As Stiles looked up at him while being carried bridal-style away from the rest of the apparently aggressive werewolves, he saw that he, too, was between wolf and man.

But unlike that huge, russet one, at least, he was notably less monstrous. It still looked strange, like a wolf’s head plopped onto a man’s body, but it wasn’t nearly as ugly.

Stiles wondered why that was, and why that brown one was so bulky and different-looking, but this was still no time for questions.

Behind them, on all fours, raced the pair of werewolves. And they were rapidly gaining speed.

“Derek, they’re c-”

“I know,” Derek shut him up with a growl. “Keep close.”

Stiles was going to ask what that meant, but he’s answered, as a branch hits him against the back of the head, forcing him to tightly embrace the werewolf carrying him effortlessly.

He glanced around, seeing nothing but the thick of the forest that surrounds Beacon Hills, all needly underbrush and wire-like trees, an almost impassable forest for most humans.

Humans, that is. Who are apparently much weaker than fully-fledged werewolves in a chase of their lives.

So Derek rushed through the barbed thicket like it’s nothing, weaving around trees like it was his god-given talent, which it kind of was, being half-wolf and all.

It seemed he could run all day, but Stiles suddenly notices the deep gashes on his torso, fresh and bleeding, and not at all unlike the wounds he saw on the first night Derek came to him.

No, they were exactly like those wounds.

He wondered how long Derek could keep going, being injured, his breathing slowly picking up as the effort of sprinting so fast and with a weight in his hands slowly got to him. And the werewolves behind them, meanwhile, were only gaining.

And just when Stiles thought all hope was lost, a cliff-side suddenly surrounding them on all sides but behind, stopping them dead in their tracks, Derek turned.

The two werewolves, brown and white, were joined by yet another, this one a steely grey and shorter than the others. They slowed to a stop on their own, a mix of wolfish snarls and human-like laughter.

“Well, suppose it ends here,” said the russet-coloured one in a gruff voice, the abomination and the largest of any of them by far.

Derek growled, deep and strong, despite bleeding steadily from his wounds, panting, with a pathetic human wide-eyed and trembling in his arms.

“No,” Derek huffed, nervously eyeing the three that surrounded him, “it doesn’t.”

“Oh, why’s that?” said the grey one, a similarly male voice, but affected by his transformation so it sounded like a mockery of a human’s.

Derek snapped, “Because I don’t want anything to do with your pack anymore. I’m not a part of it. So leave me alone.”

“You know what the consequence is for what you’ve done,” the white one said, an arrogant female voice. “You don’t get to just run away.”

“I’ve made my own life, I’ve moved on. You three should to.”

“Don’t act like we’re wasting our time,” the largest snarled. “You tried to kill me! And for that, it’s only fair!” he seethed, taking powerful strides and raising his immense hand, claws glinting in the morning light.

“I’ve made my own pack!” Derek shouted.

The three stopped.

Apparently, that was the trick. Stiles had no idea what was going on, honestly.

“Oh?” the female asked.

“Yes. He... is my mate,” Derek said.

He? Mate?

Stiles looked around, and realized that oh, he must be talking about him, himself.

Stiles blushed beet red despite his best efforts, stuttering but unable to find his voice amidst all this... supernatural stuff in a single field of view.

The big leader of the pack laughed. “Yeah, right, Hale. He doesn’t smell like pack, let alone mate.”

“He will. I’ve only just found him. And once we’ve settled down and started a pack of our own, will that finally convince you that I don’t want anything to do with your shitty clan?”

“Maybe,” said the russet one. “We’ll be watching you. Closely.” Then he turned, glowering down with what could only be described as true, deep-seated hatred in his eyes. “Remember what you’ve done, though, Derek. And remember that things like that... aren’t easily forgotten.”

He then turned again, facing the forest as he suddenly lost a good amount of height, human skin to a normal tan with his back to them, only his hair remaining the same colour. “We’ll see what happens, Derek. But you’d better be prepared.”

Stiles stared on at them for a good minute or two, just watching the three ordinary-looking humans marching away through the forest, back toward wherever they came from.

Only once they were out of earshot did he look up to a Derek once again blessedly human, furrowing his brow as he whispered, “What was that? What did you say? I’m your ma-”

“I had to do it. Not just for me, for you, too. They would’ve killed you, in the moment. But we can talk more about this somewhere safer. Just don’t think about it too much,” he sighed, beginning to head out of the forest and back to the town.

And the whole walk back, Stiles definitely thinks about it.

A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Alright, this is all in one location, one scene, so I hope it isn’t too boring or rambly lol! But it is going somewhere, I promise :D

As it turned out, “somewhere safer” was just Derek’s truck in an abandoned parking lot.

And to his dismay, Stiles quickly discovered that this was the place Derek had been living the past few weeks.

“Why not a hotel? A motel? Christ, Derek, you shouldn’t just live out of your car-”

“No records that way.”

“No what? Wh-”

Derek groaned, waving his hand. “Look, think of it this way. I’m kind of like an outlaw, a criminal, on the run, okay? I didn’t break any laws—hm,” Derek put a finger to his chin, apparently having to reconsider that statement, “well, not any laws I shouldn’t have broken, anyway.”

“You shouldn’t have broken?! What in the world does that mean?!” Stiles was practically yelling now, even though they were a single seat away in the tight quarters of his pickup truck, clearing freaking out, and even that was an understatement.

“Are you a serial killer or something?! Oh my God, don’t tell me I saved a fucking serial killer from their just dues-”

“Stiles,” Derek said, firmly. No rage or anything, not even the slightest sign of annoyance. He was perfectly calm.

_ Just like a serial killer, _ Stiles says he thought. That makes his daughter laugh a very generous amount.

But back to it, Derek continued, looking directly at him, “Did those three, what they were doing back there, chasing us and injuring me and trying to kill  _ you,” _ he closed his eyes, catching his breath, before pressing on, “seem like ‘just dues’? I don’t think so.

“No,” he sighed, leaning his arm on the cupholder to the side, staring out at the motionless decay of buildings before them, “they’re the ‘bad guys,’ if you wanna make things simple.”

“Does that mean you’re the good guy, then?”

Derek pursed his lips. “It’s hard to boil things down to black and white.”

“But that’s what you were doing, wasn’t it?” Stiles rolled his eyes to the roof of the car, then back down to him, crossing his arms. “Look, Derek, this is a very interesting turn of events, to say the least, but you’re gonna have to start actually giving me something to go off of, some sort of information, to help you.”

Derek’s eyes widened a bit at that. “You want to help me?”

“Sure.”

“Me?”

“You’re almost making me wanna regret the decision, but I have this weird feeling that it’s what I should do, so yes. I’ll help you,” Stiles smiled, pleasantly enough, for the constant confusion he’d been feeling for nearly a month now with this guy.

Derek turned back to the front, then nodded once. “Right. Okay. Well, without going too long about it, basically, those three have travelled here—California, if I’m not mistaken-”

“You’re not.”

“Good. Then they’ve gone all the way here, Cali, from New York.”

“New... York. New York. Wow. That’s like, almost as far as you can travel across the States.”

“Yep, but that’s not even the worst of it.”

“Oh?” Stiles asked, leaning in despite knowing he should reverse some judgment until Derek told him more.

“Nope. Cause I didn’t just book it straight to California. I drove here, but before coming here on a whim, I went down to Florida, Texas, Illinois, Colorado. Hit all sorts of cities, too, along the way: Atlanta, Houston, Phoenix, Las Vegas.”

“Sounds like a road trip! So you basically travelled to every state?”

“Except the Northwest, pretty much. But it’s not a vacation,” Derek leaned back in his chair, an indicator to Stiles he was finally going to get to the meat of it, “if anything, it was a nightmare.”

“Oh...”

“I was being chased, the entire time. At first, I didn’t know it. Just wanted to get out of NYC, start somewhere new, just a few cities away.”

“Start new from what?”

Derek shut his eyes as he breathed, “From them. The three of them. Their pack. I used to be part of it. Until I learned the things they would do. Don’t want to think about it. But they did bad things, very bad things, to innocent people. So I confronted them about it, fought a little, then left, once I realized they couldn’t even acknowledge how terrible the things they were doing really were.”

Stiles nodded, quiet, for once. He had questions, but didn’t feel like pressing too hard, at least not right now. He felt like he should say sorry, but he knew there was nothing to be sorry for.

After a second, Derek opened his eyes again, and went on in a steadier tone, “But when I tried to leave, they tracked me down, and nearly killed me. I escaped by the skin of my teeth, and seeing as I was on the verge of death, woke up in a random hospital—thankfully I’d been human—left before they could start asking questions. Went to a different state, same thing happened a couple weeks later.

“So I kept moving, learned to stay on the run between towns and cities, keep my name out of things, cash only, how to scrap together enough for a meal and gas, and that’s it. Sometimes they would surprise me, though. Somehow intercept where I was going, catch me while I was sleeping, while my guard was down. That’s what happened when you found me the first time, when I was stuck as a wolf, about to die from the wounds they left me with. They like to do that, I think. Leave me barely alive so I can live on, keep suffering like this, is probably what they’re thinking.

“And even now, almost a year later, they’re still following me. Stalking me. Watching me, wherever I go. I knew I shouldn’t have stayed here in one spot too long, I learned not to do that after the first few times...”

“Then why did you?” Stiles asked the obvious question.

Derek is silent, not even looking at Stiles.

And after what felt like an eternity of silence, but was probably only a few in reality, he finally breathed in, and turned to look Stiles head-on.

“You,” he said.

“You’re the reason I felt like I couldn’t leave.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that.

Thankfully, his phone answered for him.

Actually, shit, why is his phone ringing now of all times? Oh God!

“Don’t answer it,” Derek said.

Stiles furrowed his brows, although he was glad the tension of before was partially shattered. “Why? It’s just my dad, probably.” He looked down. “Yep, just dad, just one second-”

“Wait!” Derek hushed, waving his hands before Stiles to get him to pause.

Well, it worked. And the awkwardness of that admission from but a moment ago was now entirely replaced by pure, unadulterated annoyance.

“Oh, come on, Derek. It’s probably just my dad asking where I am, ‘cause I said I’d be gone only half an hour or so, and it’s been a little long, is all-”

“You can’t.”

Stiles glanced at him, up and down, but only pressed his lips together as the ring finally dies to silence.

“There a reason for that, big bad, or is my dad gonna get all worried for nothing?”

“Yes,” Derek nodded, confident. Then he twisted his entire body to the side, reaching into some compartment and pulling from it a strange item, one Stiles hadn’t seen in about a decade. Because it deserved to be lost to time.

It was a flip phone.

Cheap and with the screen cracked as Derek snapped it open, Stiles just stared at it, absolutely confused.

“What? You want me to, use that or something?”

“No, it’s my phone,” Derek chuckled slightly, snapping it shut and just looking at it as he turned it in his hands. “I know, it’s old as fuck and works like it, too. Replaced it with another shitty burner phone just a month ago, and it already has to be charged practically every hour. But this,” he raised it into the air, “is my point.”

Stiles blinked. “Oh, I get it. You  _ are _ crazy. That’s okay, I’ll just call my dad back and leav-”

“You can, if you want. Or you can stay.”

“I have a choice?”

“Of course,” Derek nodded. “I’m not really sure why you would stick with me, to be honest, Stiles. But you have so far, and if you really want to help me, you’ll have to, I think. Unfortunately for you.

“But first, the thing with the phone I was getting to, it’s that, if you do decide to come with me, you’ll have to completely change the way you live. You’ll have to be like I was, skipping town to town, have to get a phone and pay for everything in cash so their pack can’t somehow tie it back to you, be careful of who you talk to and what you say all the time. It’s a truly miserable experience I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

“But that,” he sighed, tossing the phone back into its dusty old compartment, “is just the way it has to be, I guess.”

Derek turned back to Stiles, hands idly on his knees. “So, what do you say? Stay here, or come with me for some reason? I know what choice I would make.”

Stiles squinted. “Wait, so, this is like, an ultimatum? Like, no going back or anything?”

“Yes, I’m afraid. Like I said, I’ve been all over the States except the Northwest, so I’ll probably go there, next. It’ll be freezing up there, especially so late in the year, but it’s the only place I haven’t gone. After that... maybe I’ll loop back around to the Midwest, I don’t know. But either way, if you do leave with me, we aren’t coming back. We just can’t. Not unless you want to risk dying like in the park, Stiles. I’m sorry.”

Stiles breathed in and out, blinking as his brain tried to process everything, but it felt like all his thoughts were hitting against an invisible barrier, trying to find a grip against an impossible, frictionless obstacle.

This decision, the weight of it fell full-force on him, drilling, wearing him down into nothing. From mind to body to his very spirit within, those final words, “We aren’t coming back,” simply destroyed him.

He looked out the car to the familiar sights outside: the same buildings, same trees, same people hidden somewhere in the distance. This was Beacon Hills. The sleepy, uneventful, perfectly average town he’d grown up in since he was a baby. His entire life experienced right here, all his memories save a small fraction, but the main, important ones, all laid out here.

All his birthdays, his school life with his friends, summer nights spent between his house and theirs, weekends where his father would take him to the town’s arcade or its public pool.

Everything he’d ever known was right here.

But as he looked back to Derek, he saw something entirely different.

Something unknown and mysterious, something which mismatched so badly with what he knew that it almost hurt. Something he couldn’t pin down, could never hope to.

But oh, how he wanted to.

Stiles realized then and there, that very moment within the car with the heat on so they wouldn’t freeze on this unforgiving autumn morning—the first sign of a bitter winter coming soon—what he saw in Derek.

He wasn’t just something strange and interesting. He wasn’t even just a man—even if a very attractive, secretly rather charming one—nor just an alpha, who made the omega in him that had been ignored for years swoon at the very thought of.

He was the future.

Or, at least, he was a very possible version of it. Practically handing him the option on a silver platter, even if it had a very big caveat.

This entire time that Stiles has been sticking around him the past weeks, meeting him in the park every day to do whatever they wanted, talking for as long as they could morning, day, evening, and night—hell, the entire reason that Stiles had even taken the chance on bringing a wild-seeming wolf into his house—it was because he admired the allure of the unknown. Of the possibility of an enticing, terrifying, utterly new future.

He was a breath of life in the staleness that had become his life since high school had ended, the only small excitement to Stiles anymore the jobs he found to occupy his time and energy, or maybe the calls his dad got as the sheriff of the town.

But that wasn’t nearly enough.

Perhaps it was, at one point, but now, months after graduation, it was old. And he couldn’t live like this forever, even if it was nice and comfortable, known and safe.

Eventually, things would have to change. He’d have to find better friends than just his polite neighbours, have to find something to satisfy him enough to settle down. His father would get old—already was with the stress and labour of his hard job—and need a family that could support him on a wage higher and more consistent than the one Stiles was currently making.

And maybe Stiles is crazy—no, he definitely is—but the omega in him, it doesn’t seem to be drawn to Derek just because he’s an attractive alpha. Stiles has felt lust and puppy love plenty of times in his life of typical teenage angst.

No, this was far, far more than that. For even if his omega very well had some... impure thoughts about Derek, it also had plenty of purer, more respectable feelings for him. No short-lived lust or superficial attraction, but some kind of connection so deep that it was hard to even notice, let alone begin to understand.

But perhaps, just perhaps, if he found a way to help Derek out of his troubling predicament, Stiles would also get everything he needed. New, exciting experiences, places, opportunities, people, things. A brand-new future, stranger and more supernatural than anything he’d ever experienced bar none.

And perhaps, if he got lucky, maybe he would actually make true on his little lie from before.  _ ”He is my mate,” _ that is. Even the thought gets Stiles’ heart beating, but he controls himself before he can get too into that line of thinking. What a relationship like that could mean—other than the obvious of them being together—more stability and security, two things desperately needed in Stiles’ life.

At the very least, an adventure like this with Derek Hale—proven, actual werewolf—could be the thing that finally scared Stiles into owning up to some responsibility. And his dad would be all about that.

If Stiles didn’t die, that was.

But hey, slowly die of boredom back at home, or die quickly out on the road? At least this way, he could say he finally satisfied his insatiable curiosity, up until, y’know, he died.

Or, he could not die. That would be good, too.

“Stiles?” Derek was asking, waving his hand before the seemingly comatose Stiles Stilinski’s face.

Stiles blinked back to reality, a small smile on his face as he shook his head. “Y-yeah? What is it?”

“Have you thought about your choices? If you need more time to think about it, I could give you a few hours or so-”

“I want to go.”

“Huh?”

“I want to go, with you,” Stiles smiled, pointing.

Derek’s eyes followed, from his arm to his hand, all the way to the finger a small space from his own chest. “You really... you really want to do that? I mean, are you sure? You know what that entails, not coming back, having to barely get by, drive for hours, I mean-”

“Yeah. I know. Don’t worry,” Stiles laughed. “I’ve made up my mind. I have ever since I met you, in a way.”

“Now,” Stiles said, looking down to his phone once again, “can I go and tell my dad goodbye, at least?”

Derek exhaled, partly in relief, partly in resignation.

“So long as you don’t make him worry about you enough to chase after us, sure,” he said, putting the truck in drive. One last trip to Stiles’ house, for who knows how long.

Stiles nodded.

Oh, sure! He’d just tell his dad that he was suddenly going to travel across America with that strange guy he’s been hanging around that his dad has never even met, and that he might never come back, for all he knows!

This would go just wonderfully.

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	6. Make a Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
> Bit of a more intense one this time!

“Hey,” Stiles’ voice echoed through the halls, “Dad! I have some, uh,  _ news, _ to give you, haha! ... Okay, maybe it’s a little more than news, but we can discuss that in detail for the next hour or so, however long it takes, I’m good!”

Silence answered him.

“Dad?”

Nothing but the quiet rattle of the windows against the wind outside.

“Passed out stone-cold drunk again?” he asked with a chuckle more to relieve tension than anything else, stepping quicker through the empty rooms. “You know I told you to stop doing that years ago!”

Stiles rounded the old, creaking stairs.

It was so many years ago from the present retelling, the Stiles then with no idea of what was to meet him at the landing at the top, only the slightest clawing feeling that something was wrong.

But nothing could prepare him for what he met up there. Nothing.

“And that’s where I think, it’s time to go have lunch!” Stiles chirps in the present, bouncing his daughter in his lap even as she pleads with him to continue.

“No, no, no” he smiles to her adorable, heart-shaped face, father’s blinking blue eyes amidst all her angelic features, “yes, you might be a year older, darling, but there are some things that I really should keep until you’re an adult! ... Or even later!”

She huffs and puffs but is eventually bribed by the promise of an extra dinner roll, as Stiles and Derek rise from their chairs to go to the kitchen to make the daily bounty of lunch, the version on the weekend where even more food was required.

But even as he works, he remembers.

Truthfully, he hasn’t told many of even his grown children, or his friends, or anyone, really, the specific details of that night.

Just like many things along that long journey and afterward, he would only ever confide in Derek.

Not because he didn’t trust anyone else. No, he did.

It’s just because he doesn’t like to have to speak it aloud.

But it’s been many years, as he said before.

So, although his hands are busy with chopping and mixing and all those typical, blissful activities, his mind is somewhere else entirely.

Recounting it. The feeling of his shoes hitting the final step, the squeak of them as he turned ninety degrees, as he always had.

Even then, he knew it would probably be for the last time. But he had no idea how long it would be until he would step on that final landing again, how much he would miss something as silly as that.

And, again, he had no idea what he would see.

But he saw it.

There was his father, alright. But he wasn’t passed out drunk, or standing semi-conscious, or stern-faced and ready to press on Stiles why he didn’t return his call.

He was alive and breathing, thank God.

But he was also bound to one of their own dining chairs, a hand towel tied around his mouth to muffle any responses he could have tried to make, wrists, ankles, similarly tied tight to the chair, until he didn’t even try to struggle, Stiles coming to the conclusion immediately that he already had been trying that in vain for who knows how long.

His father’s eyes were wide, not just for the sight of his son, perhaps they’d be filled with relief or something then, but there was something darker, more desperate in them.

The answer why then came from a doorway, the one to Stiles’ bedroom, with long-nailed fingers turning over his own journal, the one he sometimes jotted down notes or passwords or thoughts in. Basically a diary.

Sure enough, it was the most personal item he had, and to see this-this thing, a wolf-headed, canine-toothed mimicry of a female human, so close to his dad she must have imprisoned, as well, it filled him with rage.

But with a turn of her head, the glare of her white eyes directly at him, it stopped anything he would’ve said, at that point.

She grinned, all sharp fangs, as she fluttered through his journal. “Hello, Stiles,” she said in a smooth voice. “Out and about, were you? Having fun with your ‘mate’?”

What was Stiles even supposed to say?

“Cat got your tongue?” she smiled. “That’s alright. Most humans who come across me have that sort of reaction, too.”

“W-w-why?” he managed to get out despite the pounding of his heart in his head, the terror that overwhelmed every part of his body to make even a single word hard to form.

“ ‘Why?’ Oh, well, it’d be pretty obvious, if he told you the truth, that is. But I’m betting he didn’t. Derek has a bad track history with that kind of thing,” she sighed, a long claw coming down to the edge of the dining chair, leaving a deep mark in it as an obvious threat.

“Tell me,” she said, “do you even know who  _ I _ am? Did he even tell you my name?”

She looked at him, and with just the slight twitch of his brows, already knew the answer.

“Aw. I shouldn’t get my hopes up like that… It’s Miranda, for the record. God, he’s always such a liar, you know... Makes us out to be the bad guys, when really, he’s done far, far worse. But I’ll let him slip up or let his conscience do him in on that one himself. Gotta let him keep that for his omega mate, at least.”

As the seconds melted to minutes since seeing... this, Stiles found himself getting over his horror, anger replacing any shock he might’ve had until he could take a tiny step forward, say, “L-let him go!”

“Him? The sheriff?” she pointed, Stiles over her games so he did nothing but glare.

“I was told you were on good terms with your father,” Miranda nodded herself. “A special sort of bond, one many parents would envy. So,” she said, leaning down until her elbows rested on the back of the chair, his father only able to close his eyes to get away from her, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything to happen to him, right? I mean, nothing more than what’s already happened,” she laughed.

Stiles balled his fist.

But that’s all he could do.

Because he didn’t have any of the superhuman powers a werewolf did. Knew the second he took a step forward, she could maim him to pieces before his own father, or do the same to the sheriff himself.

No, this was a lesson. He could only hope the details of it would be more forgiving than the worst-case scenario.

“I’m not going to kill him,” she confirmed his hopes, allowing him some small breath of air. “At least, not now,” she grinned, getting up to walk around again. “Oh, you know us, ‘stalkers’, right? We’ll do all kinds of crazy things to make a point.”

“And... what’s that point, exactly?” Stiles spit, gathering strength in anger.

“Oh, a sharp one, you are! You know, some people just start crying, and I don’t deal very well with crying,” more pompous laughter. “Anyway, the point is to show your dear old man that everything you’re about to tell him is real. Very real. Werewolves, being hunted,  _ really _ having to leave. I’m doing you a favour, if you think about it. I know the sheriff is the sort who won’t see it till he believes it, so I got you over that hurdle.”

Miranda turned, grabbing hold of the rags to his wrists and pulling them loose.

“You’re welcome.”

And by the time she pulled all the bonds loose, his father rushing to stand and turning with a pistol from his belt in hand, she was already gone out the open window, no remnant of her remaining as they both leaned out.

“What did she do?!” “What did  _ you _ do?!” they said to each other at once.

“She didn’t do anything to me,” his father got it out of the way first. “I was just sleeping, and suddenly I’m being put into a chair and tied up by furry, inhuman hands. She said something about waiting, and that yes, she was a werewolf, or some shit, laughing the entire time, until I wanted to pump her full of lead right then and there, if only my damn hands weren’t bound. But nothing else. What happened to you, huh, Stiles?! Why the fuck is there an intruder in our house, and what the hell is she talking about?!  _ Derek?!” _

Stiles found himself blinking away sudden tears, wrapping his arms around his father as the relief of him being safe hit him like a train.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, as his father hesitated, but eventually returned the embrace, “yes, it was Derek. Is. H-he’s-”

“A werewolf,” his father sighed. “Yep, figured that one out.” He pulled back, hands on his son’s shoulders as he said firm but even, “Now, what’s going on?”

So Stiles told him everything.

About the first time he was attacked in the park, about how the three werewolves taunted them after they ran...

About their plan of going some place else, potentially very, very far away.

His father might have yelled at him if not for being tied up just a few minutes ago, so now he merely rubbed his face, sat down on the chair in the middle of the hall as though he  _ wished _ he were tied up again.

“And why? Why, Stiles? Why do you want to run away with a guy who seems like he could very well be some kind of runaway murderer or God knows what, being chased by those... monsters, the entire time, who seem like nothing’s off-limits if only it’ll get to you two, when you don’t even  _ know _ if running will do anything but let them chase you until your inevitable deaths, somewhere far away from me and everyone you know? What’s the point of it?”

“Because...” Stiles slid around him to face him again at the landing of the stairs, a little smile etching on his face.

“Because I’m bored.”

And before his father could fill with enough rage to cuss him out, Stiles threw his hands up. “I know! It sounds like a bad joke! But I’m serious!

“Derek,” Stiles panted from the palpable tension in the room, “he’s... special. I know we don’t talk about me being, y’know, an omega, very often, but I am one. And I don’t know if that whole fated mates thing is true, but God, if it is, I’m pretty damn sure it’s him.”

The sheriff groaned, face in his palm as he said muffled into his hand, “Not only do you say dreamy shit like that in my own house, but you cuss? Good lord, Stiles, where did I go wrong?”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, maybe a quick jab or a legitimate answer, but his father stopped him with a finger. “But I get it. You might be surprised, but I actually understand, Stiles. I felt the same way about your mother. Crazy for her, would do anything for her,” he smiled, a rare sight, for sure, “good times. Going all over the country, seeing if maybe she thought something more of me than just a sight-seeing friend. Turns out, she did, but wanted to see the world before she settled down to have a family.”

His smile slowly fell, looking up to Stiles with sober eyes. “Well, we might not have gotten the big family she wanted, and that might have been decades ago, but it makes me understand all the bull that you’re spouting, Stiles. You’re bored of doing the same old thing, want something more, maybe you got that wanderlust from her? But either way, I... God, I hate to say it, but I know what she would-”

“Go with him, and this is what’ll happen,” Stiles said, suddenly.

His father looked up, brow furrowed, registering the journal in his hands and stealing it away before Stiles could whine resistance.

He looked down at the yellowed page, at the large, cursive penmanship that obviously wasn’t his son’s chicken scratch filling the rest of it.

Sure enough, “Go with him, and this is what’ll happen.” right there, large and centred.

He threw the book on the floor for Stiles to scramble for, and slapped his knees, sighing long and low.

“Well, that complicates things a bit, but I’ve already gave my answer, so you make your mind up before I change it, Stiles.”

Stiles glanced between the page and the burner phone in his pocket.

An awful threat and a new, intense adventure.

He turned to look at his father, scooting the chair into his son’s room as he grumbled about his back, thinking about that epiphany he had, about the potentials of his futures if he stayed or if he went.

One drab and dull and certainly not very good.

And the other impossible and unknowable, either ending ultimately in death or in great rewards.

“Well,” Stiles breathed, slamming the book shut to toss it back onto his bed, closing the door for the last time, “I’ve always been a high-risk, high-reward kinda guy, so-”

He caught his father off-guard, just about to go down the stairs as he’s caught in another one of those awful, clinging, tear-pricked embraces.

But this time, his father hesitates for only a half second before giving him a nice, warm bear hug, right back, knowing what it meant.

They stay like that for a minute, at least. No words required as everything that needed to be said was communicated through the tears brought to both of their eyes, Stiles in slight awe, not remembering if he’d ever seen his father cry in his entire life.

But finally, he has to break away, because he knows that time, after all, would be of the essence, from now on.

“I’ll call you,” he sniffled, wiping his eyes as he slipped away. “You’ll have to answer every weird number from now on, sorry about that,” he laughed so he wouldn’t cry even more.

His father merely nodded, patting his shoulder one last time.

And then he was down the stairs, and out the door, into the wide, unforgiving world once again.

Stiles sighs to himself, looking down at the lovely-looking casserole about to go in the oven, along with the roast his husband had made.

Knowing that, ultimately, it was the right decision.

But that didn’t mean it was a flawless one. No, much the opposite.

But that was a story for after lunch. Now, they eat.

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	7. Numerous Opportunities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Still just warming up to each other!

“She did  _ what?!” _ Derek had yelled the literal millisecond Stiles could finally get it out.

“I-I-”

“What the fuck?!” Derek cut him off in his own whirlwind of rage, smacking his hand on the leather steering wheel hard enough to turn his pale skin red with the impact. “Why would she do that?! That fucking son of a bitch, fuck!”

He was seething still, as he turned to Stiles like an afterthought.

Then it was one blink, and all that energy was suddenly gone without a trace.

“Oh my God, but, Stiles, I’m just so, so, so fucking sorry, Jesus, I don’t even know what to say-”

“She wrote in my own journal that if I go with you, this kind of stuff will happen again.”

Derek was silent.

“She wrote... a threat? Well, I mean, that was already assumed, wasn’t it?”

Stiles bit his lip, feeling so many conflicted emotions as he sat in the car right next to the werewolf man he had saved.

Still the same large, powerful alpha. That well-structured face that made his heart throb and the omega hidden somewhere inside his heart begin to peek its head out, more than interested in perhaps, getting to know him better. In multiple ways.

But now the dangers were more than hypothetical. They were right there, executed in front of him.

His own father, tied up in a chair, helpless. All it would take is one slice of those talons she had, and he would be dead.

That was the risk he would carry, going with him, leaving an actual family and town of friends behind who could be used like little more than tools to loom over Stiles’ sensitive psyche.

But he’d already made his decision, and with all the tension, the car was getting hot with more than just temperature.

So Stiles merely nodded, bringing his lips to a little smile as he looked up to Derek.

“Drive,” he said.

And that, truly, was how it all began.

“And so our year-long road trip begins, on a cold, foggy fall evening, out of my home town and into uncharted territory of the surrounding Californian wilds, an-”

“Wait, but what happened before that?” Mandy says, tugging on Stiles’ sleeve as she is still apparently not fully satisfied, even an entire meal prep, lunch, and clean up later.

“Before that?” Stiles asks, a hand to the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. “Oh, don’t worry about it honey, it’s nothing. Not even something I would tell you when you’re older, honestly! It’s alright, it’s not important at all.”

Stiles hums in an encouraging way to his stubborn-hearted daughter, just barely winning him over.

But oh, her mommy was really exactly the thing they try to instil so constantly to not be:

A liar.

Because although he didn’t, couldn’t, know it at the time, he had changed, ever-so-slightly.

Seeing his father in such a powerless position, a strange, half-wolf, half-human woman behind him so casual about tying him down and vaguely threatening all of their lives. A sight that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, a sight that had secretly begun the slow morph of hardening into the fearless person he would eventually have to become.

But it was just the first day, not even out of the town yet. So Stiles was still the same, innocent, bright-eyed, naive young man that he had been the day before, a mere seed beginning to sprout in his mind as unpleasant memories flashed in his head.

So he tried to make conversation.

Stuff about the weather, the fog, the cold, how the heating in the car sucked, etc etc. Just dumb stuff to pass the time, as he slowly watched in the rearview mirror his entire life disappear in low-hanging clouds, peering through the passenger window beside him to watch the last outer building slip away into nothing but a memory he would hang on to for months.

Honestly, he was strangely okay with it, at the time.

Sure, there was a feeling of bitter sadness. Knowing that he wouldn’t wake up in a warm, comfy bed, that he’d probably be sleeping in musty motels and maybe even this very car.

But other than his father—who he’d always understood he’d one day have to strike out from to forge his own, independent life—there were none that he was  _ truly _ close to, left in Beacon Hills.

Aw! he thought at the time. Now there’s a good conversation topic!

So for the next few hours he told a poker-faced Derek everything about his friends, childhood, life, and memories in the town.

Literally. Everything.

Stiles’ brain always had a funny way of just saying whatever happened to come into it, so it was less of a story, or even a sequence of stories, and more of a meandering, drunken stumble from one tale to the next only to somehow wind its way all the way back to the start.

He spares his daughter the details now, just saying that Derek handled it pretty well, all things considered.

Really though, he did take it well.

Most people would start slowly increasing the radio until it drowned him out, or flat-out tell him to shut his trap after the second hour, but Derek just sat there. Straight-faced. The odd comment. Listening.

What a breath of fresh air, to Stiles, at the time!

So unlike the parents who had long since learned to hand Stiles an extra fiver to bribe him out the door—a very good tactic for a tip, might he add! So unlike even the majority of his friends—so brooding and hormonal, caught up in teenage drama and love affairs that he had no interest in, at the time!

Oops, did he say, at the time?

Derek did seem to raise a brow, at that.

Well, shit. Cover blown at least a bit, but Stiles just took in another breath, and derailed into a story about the time he purposefully made his friend Scott get a 0 out of 100 on his math homework because of a long, complex, juicy story of revenge.

There. That took the heat off.

But not really. Because as he sat in that car with all the windows rolled all the way up because it was freezing and foggy and damp outside, watching cars whizz by on the highway past the statuesque alpha that he now realized he was really, truly alone with for the first time, it started to get hot. In another way.

Of course, he skips this part when he retells it, taking a long sip of water as hours become seconds in his memory.

His stories got even worse as the minutes passed, towns as big as his there and gone in the blink of an eye, entire lives he would never know. His head felt fuzzy, jumping from one thought to the next even more than usual.

That’s when he realized, beginning to shift uncomfortably in the chair, that he’d forgotten to take most of his stuff from his room now multiple hours behind them.

It was probably for the best—Derek seemed to only keep his wallet with some cash and an ID, otherwise keeping the bare minimum survival equipment stocked in his car—but some of that shit was pretty fucking important.

Like his medication, for instance.

Not just the little bottle for his ADHD. He’ll be honest, he has his good days, bad days—and still does—but he doesn’t  _ need _ pills to function, fortunately. Maybe that was why he was more fidgety than usual, although the second prescription might explain that better, and was also rather  _ needed. _

His hormone suppressants.

Typically, only omegas really used them, regularly. Sure, alphas could, but the negative effects of rut only really occurred around an omega in heat, and most of the other characteristics of alphadom—instinctual strength, agility, bravery, etc—were rather favourable, otherwise.

But the heat. An omega’s heat, or even just the fucking pre-heat the day leading up to the big event, was a pain in the ass.

Stiles wondered in the silence that eventually befell them—only a banjo laced with dull static to cover it up—just how omegas survived before the invention of life-saving suppressants.

Seriously, how did they deal with the gut-wrenching, twisting, suffocating pain of a heat that Stiles had only felt halfway upon presenting before he’d been automatically put on suppressants?

How did they go through such a constant cycle of such intense, empty pain for a couple days of every single month, only to know that it would happen again the next lunar cycle?

It made the menstrual cycle that came along with being “blessed” with a womb seem like child’s play in comparison. Nothing like that tear-wracking, body-shaking misery of your own body betraying you for not finding a mate, or some dumb biological incentive like that.

Like, sure, it works, but that doesn’t mean it has to render you unconscious with delirium, you know?

What did they do before handy pills? Just find themselves a suitor, a mate, as soon as they became adults around the age of eighteen to twenty, so they wouldn’t have to deal with the torture?

And then what? They just let themselves be knocked up? Forced to have a child just so the discomfort would go away?

... Stiles was definitely seeing why exactly this was an evolved behaviour, but it still fucking blew.

What about after the child? he thought, mind racing as his eyes darted from the dull sights out the dark window to the similarly dull emptiness of inside the car.

Their heat would only start again, right? So what would they do then, just-

His eyes landed on Derek at exactly the wrong time, as the conclusion rung clear in his head.

Just have pups over and over again, for as long as their bodies could handle it?

Fuck!

It was at that exact moment, that the car stopped moving.

And only then did Stiles realize that they were at a hotel, and that meant that he could finally start telling the story again to his dear daughter.

“Already?” he asked, shaken enough to mostly forget his previous little... predicament. “It’s only been a few hours, hasn’t it?”

“That’s alright,” Derek said, rubbing his hands on his jeans as he turned the key to shut off the car. “The first day on the road is always exciting, second day? Not so much. Besides, their gang will probably let us get a head start or whatever the fuck they wanna do, so this is a good opportunity-”

Derek cut himself off mid-sentence.

Stiles leaned forward, tilting his head. “What?” he asked. “A good opportunity for... something?”

Derek met his eyes, then sighed, propping his elbow on the door handle and just staring at the front door of the cheap-looking inn. “I know you really want to do this, Stiles. Out of the goodness of your heart, to try to help me, or whatever, but I just want to let you have the chance to go back, if you want.”

“Derek,” Stiles had muttered, “I’m not going back. I don’t want to, there’s nothing there for me, anymore.”

“Is there?” Derek asked, partially muffled by his own hand. “You know, you don’t have to stay in Beacon Hills just because you don’t go with me on this pointless road trip. Again, I appreciate the effort, but you could just go to a community college, or some other in-state university, or even just hitchhike across all of America and get the same thrill without the werewolves threatening to possibly kill your dad as well as you, Stiles.”

Stiles paused to let the words sink in.

And then he huffed.

A sound of a mixture of growing restlessness from the hours’ long journey towards northern California, and a deep loathing of being patronized to.

Then he let out his own sigh, closing his eyes as he found the calm in him, and decided to go with that, rather than arguing. A priceless technique, truly.

“Look, Derek,” he said, laying a hand on his shoulder before he realized how the gesture might come off, and then just being stuck to it as he cleared his throat, “I really am thankful for your continued thinking on my behalf. But I... I don’t even really know how to put it into words. I just have this, feeling, that this is what I should do. Like fate or something, or maybe it was destiny... Ah, either way, I don’t care, I’m kinda tired, so sure, let’s go take a well-deserved break from the car, huh?”

Those words, the peaceful smile on his face, the hand still stuck clutching the bulging muscle of Derek’s arm covered only by the thin material of his shirt-

This was all too much.

So the second Derek unlocks the door, Stiles bolts right out of there, and into the hotel.

The lobby was clean-looking enough. Obviously just as cheap as the neon sign out front, the lack of parking needing no explanation with the plain interior, but at least it wasn’t rittled with bullet holes or some shit like that.

Stiles took a few steps toward the front desk, only to find it empty. He saw a bell, so of course, he pressed it.

Surprisingly, a rotund man steps from behind a wall out of nowhere, and quickly comes to his assistance. “Can I help you?” he probably had said, in a bored, baritone voice.

And that’s when Stiles realized that he had absolutely no common sense skills related to travelling to save his life.

Thankfully, that’s just when Derek strode through the door, his knight in shining armour with a little backpack behind him in tow.

“One room, two beds, if you have it, please.”

The man nodded, Derek placed his credit card neatly on the marble desk, and Stiles blew a sigh of relief. Surprisingly easy.

Two beds, though? That was kind of disappointing, he had to admit.

Really, it shouldn’t be, because this whole mate thing was simply a facade, a little lie concocted by Derek in a rush of adrenaline and out of pure desperation, meaning nothing.

And all Stiles’ little hopes and dreams of being with such a good-looking alpha as Derek, who was seven leagues up and away from such a lowly omega as Stiles, who Derek probably thought was merely a beta, still? Hah. Just like his dreams of becoming an astronaut. An amusing joke.

The man handed Derek his card back, as well as a new, shiny part of metallic keys that jingled the entire way up three flights of stairs.

Stiles was huffing by the time they reached the top—surely another skill he would have to learn over the journey to come with Derek who looked back on him with the slightest tinge of pity. But Stiles could do it! Hah, yeah, just one more... breath...

Derek keyed the lock and opened the door.

Yep, Stiles thought. That was a hotel room, alright.

Cheaply furnished and as boring as white pain, but at least it didn’t emit strange odours or was a fucking eyesore to look at, so he stepped in behind Derek to sit on the bed.

Only for Derek to grab him by the wrist, glaring down at him, which definitely shouldn’t have made Stiles feel a little flutter in his heart, and straight to somewhere decidedly lower. What a fucking disaster he was.

“You’ll want this,” Derek said, letting go of his hand—aw—to unzip his backpack, pulling from it a couple of thin but solid covers.

Stiles inspected them for a moment, then watched as Derek took a couple more, and spread them across the top of his own, separate bed.

Well, when in Rome, do as the Romans do, he supposed.

Derek laid the other, identical blanket overtop of it, folded it down a little, and then that was apparently it, as he started heading toward the bathroom.

“Wait, what are they for, exactly?”

“Want to keep your hair?”

“Yes?”

Derek stopped with his hand on the doorway to the bathroom, looking Stiles up and down. Then shaking his head as, obviously, the clueless guy didn’t quite get it.

“Want to keep it lice-free and not wake up possibly hallucinating from bed bugs?”

“Oh.” Stiles grimaced, sitting on the cover that now felt simultaneously entirely necessary, but also kin of revolting. “No, I wouldn’t really like either of those things...”

“Then use it,” Derek said, shutting the bathroom door.

Stiles finally breathed a breath all to himself, trying to clear his mind of its constant thoughts of all things Derek, Derek, Der-

“Oh, and Stiles,” that voice about made Stiles jump out of his skin with fear, Derek’s handsome face peeking from the doorway to look him over.

“Y-yeah?!” Yelling. Not suspicious at all, no.

“It’ll be okay. I know it’s not... glamorous, but it’s certainly way better than sleeping in a cold car all night. So, just think about that, instead of the negatives.”

“Oh, you’re right!” Stiles smiled pleasantly. “Thanks, Derek!”

He waited until he popped his head back in the bathroom to put his face into his palms, sighing deeply. What had he gotten himself into?

And it’s safe to say, half an hour later, hair and teeth all brushed, bathroom needs attended to, sleeping in his day clothes despite Derek’s numerous solutions of at least taking off his jeans, or, better yet, wear some of his own massive clothes that definitely would smell like alpha and keep Stiles up the entire night.

Nah, he’d merely peeped. He was good sleeping with all his clothes on if he was stuck in the same room as the guy who he’d had at least a couple wet dreams of in the short span he’d known him, for now.

And finally, after a day that felt more like an entire year, there were so many new experiences had that day it was exhausting, Stiles set his head down on the blanket-barriered pillow, and closed his eyes.

And, surprisingly, despite the squeaking of the bed beneath him, the rusty springs and thin sheets that made him shiver and, along with an increasingly wandering mind, almost regret not taking Derek’s clothes when he’d had the opportunity, Stiles falls asleep rather quickly.

His last thought, though?

What in the fucking world was he going to do in about a week?

That is, a week to two, max, when his absolutely necessary, fifty-dollars-for-two-months-supply, daily suppressants stopped working?

Suffice to say:

Stiles. Was. Fucked.

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	8. New Status Quo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Just setting the tone for the rest of the trip, I hope! I’m gonna try writing longer chapters in the future to push the story along faster, so hopefully that goes well in the coming weeks! ^^

Stiles awoke in a cold sweat.

Nightmares played him out of deeper sleep, dragging him with fearsome claws back to a reality still half-tainted by dreams filled with white teeth and black fangs.

He could still hear the whispered hisses of threats, wind rushing wildly around his ears, strong arms carrying him through it all until one lone sentence broke the spell:

“He is my mate.”

With a muffled gasp, Stiles is finally roused from his slumber.

But instead of it being to a break in and gun shots like his awakening body had been just preparing for, it’s to the smell of appetizing eggs and ham.

A simple breakfast, but one that immediately wiped away all his deep worries relating to that _one sentence,_ replaced with lighter, happier thoughts.

Only the very morning after the very first day away from his home town, he didn’t yet feel the crushing effects of homesickness that he would—oh, how he would—feel come the following week.

No, it was still new and fresh to him, especially as he began to sit up in bed, yawn and stretch while looking around like a princess in a movie might, all excitedly and wide-eyed like it was the very first day of his life all over again.

In a way, it kind of was, to him. It had been so long since he’d woken up anywhere other than his own bedroom, and he realized with a raise of a brow that it might very well be the first time he’d ever woken up without his father or some other guardian to watch over him, in all of his entire eighteen years of life.

Wow. So this was really it, huh? He was a fully-fledged adult now... welp.

Of course, it wasn’t really by choice, he acknowledged, looking out the still-slightly-foggy window to see a mostly empty, boring old parking lot. More like being pushed from the nest than doing it on his own. Or, really, being chased from it by a pack of wolves, but eh, technicalities.

“You’re making breakfast?” Stiles said, “Where’d you even get it from?”

“Finally awake, huh?” a grumbling voice made him chuckle from the sheer serious tone of it. “I got it from the store down the block.” He pointed vaguely in some direction with his spatula. “Also got my clothes and some more blankets laundered in the meanwhile. Speaking of which, you’re going to need new clothes. At least one set, preferably a couple more, though, just in case we go somewhere where there doesn’t happen to be a washing machine available for a buck.”

“True, true,” Stiles muttered, waving his hand as his thoughts were clearly focused more on the delicious scents, what with his stomach starving from only a few candy bars during their trip yesterday.

Well, he hadn’t been _that_ hungry yesterday. Mostly nerves, and he still definitely has some as he took a seat on the couch that would just have to function as a dining chair for the cramped hotel room that he probably should be thankful even had a kitchen, but not nearly as severe of nervousness.

No, now that he’d woken up, on the road, knowing fully well what he should more than likely come to expect, already entire towns away from his old place, he felt a little more prepared.

Only a little, though.

As he took a bite of the well-seasoned eggs and ham, he felt ever-so-slightly further prepared.

And a little more in love.

It was something that he knew was quickly going to become a problem, briefly meeting eyes with the alpha who both their secondary genders would know perfectly well was doing something at least a little bit questionable by making him an intimate meal with just the two of them present.

He averted his gaze as soon as he realized what that all would seem like, but he knew it was far too late.

Besides, he was sure Derek could tell, anyway.

Stiles had never been a very convincing liar, and when it came to lying about a very intense, very nuanced sort of crush, he had to be the absolute worst.

Even if he didn’t have his very astute alpha werewolf powers—which, oh God, he certainly fucking did—he probably would be able to tell with his very normal, human powers of observation.

Just look at him, the barely-fledged idiot that he is, all flustered and blushing over two fucking eggs and a few slices of ham. A breakfast any adult worth his salt as a chef could prepare and execute flawlessly, and his stupid omega—or maybe that was all just him—had to make it into some Herculean task, the most obvious displays of obvious courtship.

It was probably just him imagining things, but Stiles could swear, sitting on that couch, watching some dumb show from the 90s, his hormone suppressants were already wearing off.

Just a day off of his normal daily pill, and he already thought he was acting weird. Hah, of course not! It had to be just placebo. After all, it wasn’t like one’s hormones were constantly in fluctuation to the point that a single day could be a wild change in estrogen levels to cause a major spike after nearly a year of suppressing it!

Of course not!

Of course it was exactly like that.

~~~

Things only got worse and worse the following hours after hitting the road. Once upon the perilous roads of a California slipping deeper into rural lulls, Stiles had to somehow find it in himself to make small talk despite the constant pounding of his weak little heart, the sudden onslaught of stammering he found afflicted his every syllable.

God, it was awful.

But as always, if Derek noticed, he didn’t show it.

And that was almost the worst part.

Because at least if he did show it, even just the slightest raise of a brow, twitch of the lip, after the fiftieth time Stiles stuttered a gut-wrenching, “s-so yeah, anyway...” at least then, Stiles would have an idea of what was going through his impervious mind.

But with nothing like that, he had nothing at all.

Left to wonder in the pauses of his own increasingly struggling speech, his mind, of course, came up with the worst possible scenario every single time.

His hormones were growing, it was obvious, in the shaking of his hands, the constant parched state of his throat despite plenty of water being packed on the trip through the more arid parts of the region. His constant flickers to Derek’s face illuminated halfway by the slowly revolving sun around the planet, one that seemed all their own.

He could almost feel the hazy effects of pre-heat, already, although he knew that that was nothing but nonsense concocted by his own mind. He wouldn’t go into pre-heat for at least a week, two, if he was lucky.

But it seemed that lately, Stiles had anything but luck.

“Are you alright?” Derek had finally asked, and Stiles nearly gasped at thee sound of those words.

“A-alright?” he squeaked, blushing like he’d caught a fever of 103, but trying to play it off as though it were there were just something in his eye or some bullshit like that. “Sure, Derek! I’m absolutely fine! What would make you think otherwise?”

Perhaps now, it would finally reveal exactly what Derek was thinking!

But instead, he simply glanced for but a second off the road, and muttered, “You should call your dad.”

“M-m... oh, right, of course!” Stiles stammered, finally able to catch a break from the constant disgusting state of his mind with something nice and familiar.

The banged -up old cell rang a couple times, but sure enough, his father’s number he’d memorized—of course, for all sorts of emergencies and store credit systems—picked up soon enough.

There was silence on the other line, a good trick, Stiles thought. Considering all the scam calls he must have answered by now... oops...

“Dad!” Stiles beamed, trying to make up for forgetting to call yesterday and the morning after—oh, that sounded _way_ too dirty— _today,_ by being all nice and cheerful. “Ah, I’ve missed you so much! How are you do-”

“They stole my guns.”

“W-w-”

“Stiles, they took all my guns. The pistol, the shotgun, I don’t know how the fuckers did it, but they got straight through the safe and the padlock and also got the one under my bed, although that was maybe a little more obvious. Anyway, I don't think it’s just an empty threat like last time, son. I think this is more than that.”

By the time Stiles had regained his focus, Derek had pulled the car to the side of the empty road.

“What happened?” he said, brow furrowed. Just looking at him, leaning over his helpless body, filled Stiles with more than just a second wind. All sorts of awful, amazing feelings.

But the reality, of course, was much less glamorous than that.

“They stole my dad’s guns. A shotgun, a pistol, and a rifle.”

“Jeez,” Derek shook his head. “Your dad was the sheriff, after all, then again, so I can see why-”

“Stiles,” his father’s voice came back over the line. “I know you want... you need... I don’t know, I know exactly how you feel, but I just... I just have to say, that as a protective figure i, the sole guardian in your life, I really think you should come back home, safe, and without people hunting you down now loaded with guns and ammo from your own God-damned stupid father.”

Stiles could only gulp. Hands clammy on the flip phone, finding it hard to do anything more than breathe.

Yet again, there was that damned decision. That decision that he’d made days ago, had been thinking of constantly pretty much since he’d stumbled across Derek.

And sure, to know that those bad guys now were confirmed to not just be working with claws and fangs and thousands of pounds of force, but legitimate, long-ranged gun fire was more than a little mind-shakingly terrifying-

But it was nothing he hadn’t signed up for.

So he set his jaw, and for the second, third, however many-th time, told his father no.

He was doing this. There wasn’t another option.

And of course, his father said that, as a parental figure, he strongly disagreed with his decision, but understood as a man that had once loved more than life itself, that it was his to make.

And, at that point, as they picked up the pace again, and Stiles could simply talk to his dad about whatever on both of their sides of growing distance upon the world, Stiles felt something grow to overshadow that naive puppy love of before.

Now, now he was just flat-out angry.

The more he talked to his salt-of-the-earth, just-trying-to-get-by father, the more he felt it. The more he thought about just how stupid it was to be chased after a pack of fiends for entire _months,_ and for what?! What could the crime possibly be to incur such ongoing wrath, to deprive an entire group of three mostly human people actual, fulfilling lives?!

There were either two options:

Either they were all sadistic psychopaths who found some sort of intense joy in hunting the most dangerous game of their fellow man-

Or Derek had actually done something truly horrible.

Either were real possibilities. He’d seen the arrogant displays of fiendishness from the group of three, but he also still hadn’t gotten Derek to crack even the slightest bit on what exactly he’d _actually_ done.

It was driving him mad again.

His father’s ramblings about local politics involving the neighbours confused at his sudden disappearance—and inability to babysit their children ad pets—not knowing the true motives of the enemy pack that was no doubt stalking them as they drove in a car pointlessly away from them in a constant game of cat and mouse-

And the problem was _still_ there, after all this time, miles driven away from his own home town which had sparked the initial problem in the first place:

Stiles didn’t know entirely who Derek was, what his past was, and what he’d done.

But Stiles couldn’t just ask him.

Even after he’d long wished his father a good night—old man slept eight for an early morning shift—he knew he couldn’t just outright ask him.

Well, he could. But he knew that not only would Derek not answer him, it would only cause the clear tensions between them to rise even further.

So, Stiles would have to be a little more tricky about it.

Just as he would be in regards to love, it wasn’t as simple as just a quick yes or no question and answer. No, it was much more varied and complex than that, so many shades of grey it was impossible to count them.

And, besides, even if he didn’t have the actual satisfaction of a “Yes, I also reciprocate your crush quite a bit Stiles”, or a “No, I didn’t actually murder anyone or do something to enrage an entire group to chase me for nearly a year”, he trusted Derek in the weeks he had known him to know that he would never hurt him.

At least, he didn’t think so.

But hey, he seemed nice enough, right? And he could have just slit his throat or stolen all his money long ago, so why should he worry about any of this at all?

So, with all his useless, festering thoughts, Stiles never thought he would think it, but he was so, so immensely glad when he finally saw them pulling into a motel.

He’d almost run out of battery on the phone to play snake, after all!

So, with all the energy and vigour a young man could have left after being cramped in a car with but one quick bathroom and candy-purshasing stop in between hours of uneventful driving, Stiles sprung up from his seat to go ask for a room—two beds, himself!

But then he found a hand stopped him.

He turned to look back into the car, at the face that was surprisingly even more attractive for the lack of light, those intense, blue eyes staring into the very depths of his soul.

His soul which was, very obviously, becoming more and more hormonal and omega by the second Derek held him by the wrist like this.

Then Stiles found the grip freed, and turned his hand over to see fifty cents of loose change bundled up with a paltry sum of dollars.

He looked back to Derek, who was only riffling through his bag, preparing to go in.

Oh, so it was just money. Right! Just money, and he was going to pay for this and have the key and everything all set up for his wonderful alpha by the-

No. Not his alpha.

Never.

Well, maybe one day. But he shouldn’t count his chickens before they were even laid in the first place.

Hah, laid. Jesus Christ, his hormones really _were_ coming back, huh…

No, Derek didn’t mean anything by snatching his hand up and staring him right in the eyes until both of their hearts probably fluttered in tandem. Definitely didn’t mean anything by the trademark sign of courtship that was making their mate breakfast while they were in bed—although the sex beforehand would have been a nice bow on top, for sure.

He definitely didn’t mean anything by any of those very overt, very obvious signs of interest, because he wasn’t saying it, of course.

So, with maybe a little more of a smile than before, Stiles turned to go find a room for the second night of their long, arduous adventure.

And to think, no matter how odd his little narrow-minded brain thought it then, things would only get even weirder from there. In both good, amazingly pleasurable, and bad, intensely painful, ways.

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	9. Lightly Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Hello!! I did manage to write and do a little more this chapter, still not fully satisfied though lol! Oh well, it is a looong road trip after all, hehe

The next week could be summed up as:

“We then stayed at numerous hotels of varying quality and ate very mediocre food!”

Which is exactly what he tells his still quite naive daughter, who he knows would quickly grow bored with anything less.

But really, it was a little more interesting than that.

Sure, not every day was the most exciting, but there were shining little tidbits here and there to retell, at least.

Memorable moments of breaks after hours in a row of being in a car with an AC fluctuating between blasting hot and non-functionally blowing cold air, where they’d get out of the car to stretch their legs, walk around a bit.

Most of the time it was a double-up journey of going into the local convenience store, shopping around for nice-looking granola bars and energy drinks or whatever Stiles wanted to waste his five bucks on. Of course, needs other than food and drink were also attended to, mostly to the bathroom, of course. But on the increasingly lonesome stretches of road beneath an underwhelming autumn sun, they found that sometimes, there were absolutely no rest stops to be had.

And, well, sometimes a man just needs to do what a man does. Behind a bush and a tree, with a little roll of toilet paper conveniently stuffed in the trunk somewhere for this exact scenario.

It wasn’t the most glamorous of lives, just as most of the motels had questionable pest control, and some of them could definitely use a little more decoration—or a little less. But it was something new, and even as the nights settled and new days began, Stiles always felt excitement in knowing there were new sights to be seen, that he’d never before had the chance to, and that he could spend it all with the still very mysterious alpha who had his heart already on a string, knowing it or not.

It was about the fifth day since the beginning of their adventure, though, that something really special happened.

Now, this was a story that he  _ could _ actually recount to his daughter who was currently switching between listening with full intent, and colouring in a picture of a Disney princess with mismatching crayons, if at least up till a point.

Oh, how he loves her. How he knows just how worth it every restless moment of that trip was, every perilous scene yet to come, every awkward pause and less-than-stellar night of sleep.

But he didn’t know that yet.

And as they finally had another break from what must have been seven or eight hours spent crammed into a car with only music and conversation which had almost run dry—a feat for Stiles, for sure—he felt an actual wave of doubt as he climbed from the car.

The sun was setting, and he wasn’t entirely sure why they stopped here of all places, for it seemed there was nothing for miles, but he was fine with it. Mostly.

Because as he stretched his aching legs and breathed in fresh, chilly air, it really hit him, for the first time.

That he could be back home, doing whatever. On his computer, lying on his back, relaxing in the sun from his bedroom window he’d had ever since he was a baby. Instead of out here, in the cold, whole body cramping something awful, hungry and in bad need of a break room, and questioning the entire thing all the while.

For the very first time since he left nearly a week ago, he felt a real, strong sense of self-doubt. Wondering if he might have made the wrong decision, the feeling so fresh and filling him utterly full with overwhelming, nonsensical dread that Stiles can almost feel it now, hundreds of miles from that spot, nearly two entire decades later.

God, he feels so fucking old now that he remembers this whole thing happened eighteen years ago.

But that only means that he was all that much younger, back then.

That that wave of doubt that filled him as he became one with nature in the worst of ways, could just be written off as simple homesickness, nothing to worry about.

Still, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure.

Which is why he was more than surprised, and thankful, when Derek did something highly unusual for the previously rather uneventful trip.

Maybe he was trying to keep things slow and simple for him: like a flighty doe, not dare scare him off by trying anything new or interesting. Stiles should probably be thankful, considering just finding a hotel to stay at night and getting breakfast in the morning was like a world-ending event every day, but he’d still be annoyed to know it could’ve been much more exciting of a trip the first few days.

Really, Derek did know how to make conversation. Certainly not as much or as lengthy as Stiles, but he shared some stories here and there, in passing. Tales of a distant childhood still so shrouded in mystery, so all Stiles knew was that he had a mother, father, a sister of indiscriminate age and location relative to him, now. But it was certainly better than nothing.

And as it turned out, Derek knew more than just how to talk.

“What in the world?” Stiles remembers asking, in a mixture of curiosity and interest which thankfully lessened his doubt. But didn’t entirely squash it, either.

“I don’t know. I got it a long time ago, never used it till now. Never thought I would, but I kept it, just in case.”

Stiles squinted, wanting to ask how he got it, why, and exactly why a man with the very limited space of the trunk and back seat of his car would hoard a modestly sized picnic basket which could be taking up valuable space for perishables and other items.

But he didn’t ask, had learned not to bother with that, trained to expect a simple shrug or lame excuse.

Besides, with all those non-committal, avoidant tendencies he’d grown so used to the past few days, he was legitimately thankful for a peek at a more colourful side of Derek. Not necessarily a truer side of him, Stiles was sure from the weeks preceding their trip that Derek was just the kind to say less, think more, or whatever. But a crack in his armour nonetheless, a little hint of a deeper truth that he’d become so starved for.

So although he was more than a little suspicious and still feeling a bit home-sick, he followed Derek into the woods.

“What do you even have in that picnic basket? Better not be an 8-hour-old sandwich in there, or else I’m good!”

Derek chuckled quietly at that. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s not really a traditional picnic lunch, but it’s already too damn cold for that, anyway.”

Stiles nodded best he could past a sudden shiver at the mere mention of the cold, saying, “Oh, that’s fine. So long as I don’t get sick either way!”

Derek passed him a look that said he wasn’t too sure of that, but Stiles just laughed it off. Silly werewolf and his silly glum face all the time.

God, Stiles could practically  _ feel _ his brain turning to goo as the suppressants wore off, revealing his omega as the highly sensitive, provocative creature it really was under all those drugs. And his ADHD was probably beginning to flare up. That could be it, too.

But Stiles was determined to have a good picnic, one that he very well could never remember having in his entire life, what with his father one, being busy all the time, and two, never being the kind of man for something like a picnic in the first place.

Stiles decided to say as much, Derek glancing at him with a possible millisecond’s look of pity before turning back to march further into the woods, stone-faced once again. Saying that he can only remember doing it once, and it was so windy it blew their traditional red and white chequered blanket straight into the ocean.

Stiles found that very funny, enough to have to run up to catch Derek after doubling over for a moment. But even in his amused spirits, he definitely didn’t miss the  _ ocean _ bit. So if Stiles was from the west coast, maybe Derek wasn’t lying about living in the east. Maybe he grew up in New York, or maybe he lived somewhere further south and travelled up there somehow.

Whatever. For now Stiles would just have to guess, because he was sure Derek would remain cagey about this for... who knows how long.

Finally, the weeds and brambles which had Stiles doubting gave way to a nice, sunny, clear grotto in the middle of the forest. It was like a beautiful, mini-oasis, not only hidden in this thorny, overgrown forest, but on their entire trip, as well.

Maybe Stiles is remembering it wrong, the way that nostalgic memories tend to be. Turning it even brighter, until it became something from a fantasy movie full of elves and dragons rather than anything that could happen in reality. Probably was.

But he takes the time to describe to it to his fantasy-prone daughter anyway, and Mandy eats it right up. Loves every last detail of the babbling creek moving too fast to be frozen just yet, the way the sun peered through the leaves at the edges of the clearing, and poured right into the centre where no vegetation had yet taken root, for some reason.

He also says there was even a bit of waterfall in that creek, but Derek from across the room speaks up for once, to say that there wasn’t any at all.

Stiles just hmphs and continues on with his story.

It could very well be, as well, that he’s misremembering it because of  _ what  _ happened there.

“How did you know this was here?” Stiles gasped, looking about with wide-eyes at the impressive scene.

Even then, Derek was less impressed at most things, and this was no exception. “I smelled it.”

Stiles thought that was another joke, but Derek proved that he rarely told those as he said that did, indeed, actually smell it.

Then he went on a tale of something about how he could scent the change in soil or some shit, but Stiles was only half-listening, because he was busy sitting on the traditionally chequered picnic blanket, feeling the strange blades of grass still poking beneath the thin fabric, overwhelmed with excitement and joy and utter delight to finally be somewhere other than a boring car, or an even more boring motel.

No, this was the great outdoors. And even if he had never taken much notice or appreciation of it—as many computer-savvy modern people such as himself tended to do—he would find only more and more on that journey, just how great nature really was.

And how absolutely horrifying. But those were events in the future, and he was telling this mostly chronologically, so he manages to stave off those more excitingly death-defying tales for later.

Now, he simply sat on the blanket even as it was just falling back to the Earth, and watched with raptured eyes as Derek’s sturdy hands slowly opened the mysterious picnic basket.

Well, he really didn’t do it that slowly at all. Nor was it really all that mysterious. But Stiles still held his breath nonetheless, both loving and hating as the moment seemed to stretch into what felt like hours in his mind. At the same time an almost other-worldly pause from the rest of their run from ravenous werewolves, and its own sort of torture in having to wait to see what he could have possibly packed away in there.

Finally, though, he pulled something out. Of the basket, that is.

An apple.

Stiles literally gasped.

Which might seem like more than a little bit of an over-reaction to a fucking  _ apple,  _ but you have to understand, that he’s been between interstates and cities for  _ days  _ now. Eating worse than he had for entire years combined—well, maybe not, but it was pretty bad.

And after that many days and nights, the allure of being able to be his own boss, buy and eat whatever cheap garbage he wanted, had worn off and then some.

He came to really appreciate the rare times like the first morning, where Derek could piece together a quick breakfast, something which he’d surely taken for granted before.

And, well, this might not be an actual meal, per say, but an assortment of apples and oranges of various kinds and all shelf-stable enough to last at least a day since the last time Derek snuck out to a grocery store?

He was, genuinely, quite happy.

Again, it sounds stupid, now. To be so excited at the simple sight of fruit, it’s like a joke. But he guesses that that’s just what a road trip and homesickness does to a man. And maybe also doing it all alongside one of the hottest guys he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting, who just so happened to be an alpha coincidentally providing for him by doing this once more.

But that had to just be a coincidence.

Either way, he snatched that apple right out of his hand, and for perhaps the first time ever, thoroughly enjoyed that feeling that only biting down on a fresh apple could give: the hardness of the durable outer skin, yet the soft but not mushy give of its slightly-sweet, wet insides.

Wow, he never would have thought biting an apple could be so arousing, but there he was.

Of course, that’s another detail of many, that he never relays to his lovely children now. But he certainly did feel it then, half-regretting his voraciousness, even despite the subtle flavours of sugary fibre still slipping down his tongue.

And even if his logical, sapient self didn’t take this as some sort of romantic gesture, the omega only growing stronger by the day certainly did.

Derek was an alpha. The more days stretched without a daily dose of reliable chemicals to quell his hormones, the more he could smell it. What was at first a barely-noticeable scent, akin more to the “smell” of rain than an actual thing, and only up close, slowly developed into something much more substantial.

Now, it was hard to ignore it. Hard, but still possible. Normally.

Staring at the alpha directly across from him, merely a straw picnic basket away upon the chequered sheet, it was impossible.

God, the apple, the sweet gesture of taking him out away from the road and the acrid scent of methane and the sights and sounds of civilization to a vacant woods, finding the perfect, sunny spot in the middle of it to settle down for a fucking picnic. The sight of his knowing face, the way his eyes lidded as his hands forgot to continue peeling the orange just as Stiles forgot to keep eating the apple still fitting perfectly in his hand.

It made Stiles so fucking  _ wet- _

“Well, this was great, but I think I should get back to the car and warm up!” Stiles laughed so nervously it nearly sounded crazed, rising to his feet-

But before he even got properly onto his own knees, Derek snapped his wrist up, and made him turn back.

“I didn’t just bring you out here for a picnic,” he said, awfully serious for a man still holding a half-peeled orange in one hand.

Stiles nodded, for what seemed like the umpteenth time allowing surprise to drown out all those pesky thoughts of just a second before. It was easier to ignore it, for sure.

Derek sat back, and continued busying his hands with the little ball of citrus, folding his legs back down as he invited Stiles to do the same, and so he did.

“Well...” Stiles cleared his throat, shaking his head to try to throw off the rotten omega within it, and forget the temporary tingling between his legs, “what is it, then?”

Derek was silent, simply frowning at the ground before he parted his lips to allow a slice of orange in.

Stiles had the gall to roll his eyes. Even after half a month of knowing him, saving his life and all, and saying he was about to do  _ something,  _ he was still so damn cagey.

So Stiles also had the damn nerve to spout, “Finally gonna tell me you’re a murderer, huh?”

Which was probably not the wisest thing to say to a muscular man who could shift into a werewolf on command within seconds, in the middle of a thick forest not nearly within screaming distance of the nearest highway, anymore.

But God damn, Stiles had already said it, so he had to live with the consequences.

Derek stopped his staring seemingly into Stiles’ very soul to blink, sighing.

And then he nodded.

At first, Stiles didn’t know entirely what that meant.

Because how could he?

He’d never actually felt death in a very real way. The only people he’d ever been close enough to even distantly feel the sorrow of death were always ones expected to not be far from it, and all from peaceful, natural causes, known simply as old age. Grandparents, pre-school teachers, elderly neighbours, the like.

The only exception being, of course, his mother. But she had died long before he could even form long-term memories, let alone could understand the full weight and gravity of such a loss. He only knew his mother in the form of pictures and blurry videos, which, even then, he should be thankful to have heard her voice or seen her image at all.

That was sad, probably, to other people, at least. But it was just what Stiles had always known, so it wasn’t to him. Just as a person born without sight never misses the ability to see, because they had never been able to miss it in the first place, so was he to his mother.

So, in all regards, death was always a very distant, unsubstantial thing to him. Was fortunate to be born in modern times in a first-world country where seeing death was far, far from the question, rather than the norm in other parts of the world, or just a century ago, perhaps.

So to hear that the man before him, the one that he’d been travelling with alone, always within arm’s reach, frequently dozing off, and always vulnerable and exposed for absolutely anything-

Was a murderer.

“Y-you... you’ve gotta be joking,” Stiles tried after a long, long time of silence. “Right?”

Derek shook his head, and suddenly the vibrant scene of just a second before turned as sombre as his expression.

“No. I’m dead serious. Maybe that was a bad pun to make right now, but really, I am serious.”

Stiles couldn’t help but balk. At the actual idea, even the entertainment that Derek could really, actually, have killed another human being, and also that he would nearly make a joke out of it.

“So...” Stiles swallowed, deciding to even the playing field by spouting the more than likely unwise crack of, “you brought me out here to add to your numbers?”

Derek frowned, not even the slightest hint of humour on his face, but that was to be expected. He didn’t even bother shaking his head, or refuting what was an obvious position. Instead, he simply said, “I’ve been more or less alone with you for weeks now, Stiles. If I wanted to do something to you, I would have. A long time ago.”

“Very reassuring from a convicted murderer. Er, you aren’t convicted, legally, are you?”

Derek shook his head once again. “Nope. No chance to prosecute.”

“Oh...” Stiles grimaced.

“Look, I know this... looks, and sounds, really awful-”

“Yep, you got that right!”

“Yeah, so,” Derek sighed, “I know it will sound cliché and you probably will never believe me unless I go into actual detail, but yes, I have killed someone. A man. But not out of self-interest or malicious intent or anything like that.”

“Self-defence?”

Stiles tilted his head, fully hoping with an open heart that he could at least have that peace of mind.

But instead of the nod and small grin he expected, he got another hard frown that made his own smile slip away into nothing.

“I... it’s hard to put it into black-and-white categories or terms or anything like that. It’s, just, complicated. But I thought I’d at least let you know that yeah, I have done something which might be the most morally reprehensible thing a person can do, because I’m sure the pack that’s stalking us would let you know otherwise.”

Stiles blinked quite a few times in the minute’s pause that followed, as he slowly processed the information while the apple in his hand oxidized an unsavoury brown. He suddenly wasn’t that hungry anymore, though.

Finally, getting his thoughts together, his first instinct was something between hesitation, and guarded suspicion.

“You... you only wanted to tell me that you killed someone, all the sudden, after you clearly planned to take me to a nice picnic just to drop this bomb? And that’s it, that’s the whole story? No more details besides ‘it’s complicated’? Really, Derek?”

Derek huffed again, exasperated, but it only made Stiles even more angry, as he folded his arms, the apple staying clenched between his fingers just barely.

“And you’re telling me all this shit, not because you think you should, but just because some weirdos are following us? Because, otherwise, why the hell would you not have told me something as important as, oh I don’t know,  _ murder, _ fucking weeks ago, before I went on this trip with you?!”

His own words meant to vent only served to further enrage his own self, as he threw the half-bitten apple to the patchy grass beside him. “God, Derek..! For such a smart, strong, independent, han- er, such a completely average guy in most regards, you really can be an idiot, can’t you?!”

And with one last irritated puff of breath, Stiles left Derek sitting still cross-legged on that stupid blanket, and walked all the way back to the car.

On the confusing journey where he definitely got lost more than a handful of times even with their clear footprints and path to guide him, Stiles did feel a little bad for his little outburst. But only a little.

Because, you gotta understand. Murder, death? That was a lot. And not even having the “luxury”, also known as the  _ obvious necessity _ of being told literally anything about Derek’s past  _ still,  _ was unacceptable to him.

As he sat in the passenger’s seat, waiting for the stupid alpha werewolf to return after probably contemplating life on his own sweet time, maybe even still eating that dumb orange piece by piece—no, that was not cute, or funny, not at all—he wondered why in the world Derek couldn’t tell him more.

He had told him the broad idea. So why would he not go into the details? It wasn’t like it was a secret anymore.

There were two clear possibilities to Stiles, at that time:

Either go into the details would make him seem infinitely worse, to the point that  _ whatever _ he did quickly became clear as inexcusable, for... whatever reason.

Or, he didn’t want to talk about it. Which, time obviously wasn’t a concern, and Stiles was all ears for any and all information on the man who he was actually invested in helping in some way, so that meant the only reason he wouldn’t want to talk would be for emotional reasons.

But Derek? Emotions? He wouldn’t go so far as to say they’re antonyms, he obviously did have plenty of emotions in both positive and negative forms, he just tended to be markedly more neutral than most people.

But still, he just didn’t seem like the type to allow something to affect him so deeply. And being a supernatural werewolf and all—something Stiles still had, and has, a hard time fully accepting as his cruel reality—violence and death obviously seemed to be more expected than to the average human.

Unless... what had happened to him in his all-mysterious past, was so messed up that he didn’t even want to think about it in the excruciating detail that retelling it fully would require?

Shit.

Now Stiles felt like a fucking asshole.

Derek finally returned eventually, and at the sight of him, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure what to feel.

At his sudden revelation, he did feel pretty damn bad. But on the other hand, he felt he should be entitled to his own feelings of frustration. Anyone would, after being so close but so far from actually substantial information on such a crucial topic.

But more than anything, he just felt exhausted.

Derek looked at him, glancing, asking without speaking if he wanted to just turn around, call it all quits. Sure, it would be a few days’ drive back to his home town, and they would probably run in with his ex-pack, but perhaps they would still be forgiving, especially if they surrendered to them with open arms.

Stiles seriously wondered if Derek would be selfless enough to sacrifice himself for Stiles’ life to be left intact. Unlike the man who he’d apparently murdered, that is.

But then Stiles’ stomach growled, he sighed, and leaned on the side of the car door in an obvious display of, “Yeah, just go.”

God damn it. Now not only was he tired after such a long day, physically, mentally, emotionally, but he was fucking hungry again...

Maybe he should have eaten that apple, after all. Maybe he should’ve done a lot of things different, back there.

Whatever, he thought, watching the little forest slide away to be forgotten, just like everything else. What was done was done, no going back.

Be it a superficially pleasant picnic, an apple, or the taking of another’s fully-fledged life, it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	10. Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
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> Heads-up for this one, stuff finally happens! :D Whew! Or, almost happens, but you'll see~

After the short period of survival-focused recovery that was finding a shitty hotel to sleep, and then sleeping in it, the morning after was... a little more than awkward.

Memories of their little spat still dreadfully fresh in both of their minds, or, at least, so Stiles was sure. Or, kind of sure. It was always hard to tell what Derek was thinking, no matter what. Guy could be sitting there with the most world-weary scowl on his well-proportioned face as Stiles just-so-happened to sneak a little glance at him, and then he’d ask if he wanted fast food.

Of course, Stiles always said yes, because who would say no to relatively free fast food?

But that wasn’t the point, and definitely shouldn’t be what his sporadic mind was thinking of at that moment.

So instead, to make conversation as well as attempt to relieve the post-argument tension in the air, Stiles asked a simple enough question: “Are we in Oregon yet? Or where in the world are we?”

It seemed a simple, easy question, to ask. So simple and easy, in fact, that a toddler could probably answer it.

And as he asks his daughter in the present day that exact question, and how easy it would be to reply, he makes his point well-known to the wolf man still sorting through tax forms or whatever. Derek just huffs, the smallest sound of acknowledgement at Stiles’ piss poor attempt at humour.

Stiles just laughs at him right back, and so does their daughter, although it’s hard to tell whose side she was taking.

Ah, but anyway, yes, an easy question. Where were they?

Instead, though, Derek just had to go back to being cryptic: “Yeah, probably a good ways North from where we used to be.”

“I... would hope so, Derek. But I meant, where exactly are we? Oregon should only be, like, a couple days away, max, even with rest stops and, uh,  _ picnics,  _ and all that in between. So, really, shouldn’t we have already reached Washington at this rate, constantly driving on and off of highways?”

“You would think so. But I don’t really drive in a straight line, Stiles. I don’t use a map or anything like that, either, so your guess is as good as mine.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, as the car barrelled down sparse streets that he truly had no idea the name, nor location, of.

Then he spoke, “You have no idea where we are right now?”

“No, I have some idea. I’ve been driving North, at least, to the left of a rising sun and the right of a setting one, following the North Star.”

“You know how to follow the North Star? No, wait, that isn’t what I’m focusing on right now! Derek, you really have no damn idea where we’re actually going, all this time? I trusted you, I’ve been trusting you for so long, and all this stuff, just, ugh!”

In a strange twist of events, Derek turned to face him with genuine, realized concern, and voiced that concern for once, “Are you okay, Stiles?”

That really made Stiles turn right back to him. “What do you mean?” he asked, the morning sun partially blinding him, so he had to squint. But even without it, it was hard to look fully upon the alpha right next to him, driving him crazy in such an enclosed, isolated space of a car driving down a nameless highway.

“You’ve been acting... rather off, lately.”

Oh, shit.

The jig was up, he’d been found out, he realized with wide widening eyes.

This was it, Derek would call him out as the closeted homosexual, lonelyo mega desperate for any old alpha to come along and scoop him up.

That was definitely what he thought was going to happen.

But instead, Derek continued in Stiles’ obvious, shocked absence of speech, “I mean, you’re always kinda off, but in an interesting way.”

_ Oh. _

Well, he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that, but he thought it was a compliment, so he blushed slightly anyway. And then turned his face a second too late, already mentally kicking himself for showing such a brazen display of obvious attraction.

“But, I mean,” Derek breathed in staccato notes, hands lightly tapping and making soft sounds as his fingers brushed over the faux-leather of the steering wheel cover, “I don’t know, it’s not just the way you’ve been acting, or talking, really. It kinda has, but it’s more so...”

Stiles caught a glance from the side, Derek pressing his teeth together, a tiny flash of a canine almost imperceptibly longer than a normal human one, before it disappeared as the telling grimace washed away back to the normalcy that was a stoic, captivating face.

“I don’t know... I’m probably just talking about nothing. Anyway, yeah, I’ve thought about it, and from your perspective, I can totally get how the avoidant way I’ve been acting could be so infuriating.” That he would storm away from a perfectly good picnic at sunset, he didn’t go so low to say aloud, but they both were definitely thinking of it. “So, I’ll really try to start opening up to you more, Stiles. It’s just, well, kind of hard for me, I guess. Considering I’ve never really done it before, and it’s always actually been to my benefit that I never did, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Stiles croaked after a decent bit of a pause, “no, I get it. I guess I haven’t really been trying to think of it much from your perspective, either. So, that’s on both of us,” he laughed to himself. “But, eh, back on topic and giving you an opportunity to open up at the same time, why exactly wouldn’t you just drive straight north, like you said you would?”

“Because... ugh, I don’t know why it’s so hard to talk about stuff like this...”

“Just spit it out,” Stiles encouraged, leaning forward over the armrest, “come on, I don’t care what you say, just go ahead and say it-”

“It’s pointless.”

Stiles waited for him to continue. When he didn't, though, he just blurted out a, “Wha-what? What is?”

“The whole thing,” he said, making a humourless puff of air through his mouth as he tapped the steering wheel pointedly, “driving, running, fighting, whatever it is. They always fucking follow me, and no matter what I try—ditching any form of communication, never, ever talking to anyone more than I absolutely have to to find a place to stay, something to eat, and money to buy gas with—they always get to me. No matter how far I drive, or how I drive, for that matter. None of it ever fucking matters. They always get me in the end.”

Stiles stayed frozen in time and space for a while, just processing that bombshell.

It... it was pointless? Well, he guessed he kind of knew that, in some capacity. From the way Derek had showed up, dying, injured, now so obviously from another werewolf, as no other creature could make such marks, it was obvious that he’d fought them before.

But now, Stiles realized, looking upon Derek’s always flawless skin, that there were no signs of injury, anymore. Not even the smallest scratch, even a little nick. Nope, nothing. His superhuman powers allowed him to heal in a matter of weeks, maybe even days, and make the past a distant memory, one that remained only in the minds of the two people on the planet who had bore witness to it.

Just how many times had he encountered that pack before? How many unfair battles and violent scraps had nearly cost him his life? How did he always recover from those fights, which, considering his hard scowl, must have been plenty and fresh in his memory? How many people might he have stumbled on before, wolf or not, and begged for their mercy, only to inevitably be forced back on the road, all alone?

And all only to be chased again.

Stiles had felt it, but only distantly, since that point. The constant prickling of the hairs on the nape of his neck, the looming, oppressive feel that even the open fault of the infinite sky around them seemed to have. Knowing that he was always being followed, that  _ they  _ were. Knowing he could never truly let his guard down, for any moment, he could be tackled, struggling beneath what seemed like tons of animalistic muscle driven by instinct, but blessed with the intellect of a fully sentient human being.

But from then on, he felt it infinitely more.

It was like he could turn over his shoulder, glance for the rearview mirror, and he would surely see a car there, following them. That any second, the next mount of a hill would give way and reveal the horizon, and between the trees would be a thrum of three glaring humans—no,  _ monsters. _

He was  _ that  _ paranoid.

What an awful fucking feeling.

And to know that Derek, just next to him, had to feel like this all the damn time?

It really made Stiles feel...  _ something.  _ More than just the normal attraction, or slight, bitchy irritance. Something deeper, not often touched. True, genuine empathy, or, perhaps, sympathy.

But, whatever it was, he didn’t have too long to think about it. Or anything.

Because that’s when he sneezed.

Now, i n the moment, that wasn’t really a big deal. He’d sneezed plenty before, light seasonal allergies, that kind of thing, and it was no big deal, for sure.

But it was a little amusing for him to sneeze at such a perilous moment, effectively breaking the tension as both of them enjoyed a brief round of laughter to break the spell. Gladly.

But, little did the both of them know, that that sneeze would be the beginning of their undoing.

And, also, perhaps, just the thing to solve all of their problems.

But no! In the past, he had no way of knowing that, and nor did Derek.

So Stiles sneezed, and then they went on with their little pointless meandering of a road trip for a while longer. Stopped by the road to nab some quick food and eat it in the car over conversation about sports—Derek had, surprisingly, played football in high school. Stiles wasn’t entirely sure why that was so surprising to him that he paused eating his half of the foot-long sandwich mid-bite, but he guessed it was just that he had pictured Derek’s childhood as more of a black void, devoid of any kind of happiness or contentment or other people.

But, really, it made perfect sense. Stiles preferring cats to dogs, though? Now, that made no sense at all, especially o a werewolf who felt at least a little offended at such an idea.

But, either way, it was another successful day. No pack catching up to them and clawing their eyes out, no bloodshed or potential threat of the loss of human life, nothing like that. It was actually a pretty nice, peaceful day, filled with genuine bonding now that it felt two crucial walls had finally come down, and only more were soon to be destroyed, surely.

They found a nice, quaint inn to stay at, and although it was nice in all regards—atmosphere, a roaring fire blocking out the increasingly cold temperatures from an oncoming winter made only harsher by the increase in latitude, architecture, a quirky medieval-inspired exterior and somewhat matching interior—and also, more importantly, conveniently appearing on the curving roads thick with forestry at just the same time that Stiles was beginning to really doze off even between pleasant conversation with the best potential suitor he’d met in his whole life, Stiles didn’t miss the slight pursing of Derek’s lips as he pulled out his wallet.

That pursing, at such a time, just before he handed over a suitable amount of money for two to stay for a singular night, could only mean one thing.

They were running out of money.

This was a thing Stiles had been worrying about, a lot. He’d discussed it with Derek more than a few times, questions about how exactly he funded such an expensive trip around the United States. Really, it was simple. He did whatever odd jobs he could find, quite like Stiles had done, but no longer reserved to his own home town that he knew like the back of his hand.

No, Derek had to do whatever it took to scrounge up some cold, hard cash. It didn’t matter if it was a little weird, or morally grey, or potentially illegal, he would do it. But he made a quick note, at Stiles’ quirked brow, that no, he didn’t do anything... completely illegal. Okay, or sexual. He wouldn’t go  _ that  _ low.

But washing some cars, spinning some signs, cleaning windows, mowing lawns, hell, whatever he could do that wouldn’t involve any sort of contract or legal ties, he’d fucking haul entire boxes of indeterminable content if it meant a cool wad of fifty.

He didn’t care if the business was mostly shady, or degrading, or what exactly the intentions of the people he was “working” for were. So long as he got his money, and the other person was suitably satisfied, that was that.

It wasn’t nearly as impossible or fantastical as it might have sounded, at first, Derek reassured the starry-eyed Stiles. Plenty of people will pay for all sorts of things, especially if it means they can get away with not having to do some dumb labour they labelled beneath them, or if it were something they’d rather not have anyone else knowing about. The fact that he was from out of town and definitely going to leave within a few days’ time was a bonus, actually. Meant the people could trust him to do... whatever they wanted, and then not have to worry about whatever the hell they could be worried would happen next.

So, it really wasn’t the end of the world that they were running low on cash.

But it was still a concern.

And it was in that moment, just as his thoughts were returning to why exactly he’d never, and would never, tell Derek about his being an omega in desperate need of hormone suppressants only growing by the day in urgency, that Stiles sneezed again.

It was funny, Another break in the tension, as Derek smiled to him and led the way up to their rooms by flights of stairs, as the lack of an elevator seemed more an aesthetic choice than a lack of money, considering the other rooms they passed through all seemed full of OCCUPIED or DO NOT DISTURB tags hooked on to metal handles, in neat but bold cursive.

But just as they entered the one bedroom, one bath, two bed set up that was their abode for the night, fitted with a fattening moon perfectly in view of the window as they entered, Stiles sneezed, and then he coughed.

And that’s when he knew that this was more than just allergies.

“I... think I might have a cold,” Stiles blurted, sniffling in the same sentence as though his body needed to confirm that observation as definite fact.

A cold was nothing. Never had been, never would be. But the way Derek turned to him, eyes far wider than normal, and even more than he expected, Stiles got the hint that oh, this was a problem, actually.

“You’re sick?” Derek asked, in a tone that made Stiles uneasy immediately.

“I, uh, well, I really think so. But it’s probably nothing,” Stiles tried to play it off, lying back on a bed newly fitted with their own, freshly washed sheets, for no matter how nice a place looked, you never knew how lazy the cleaners were, nor how persistent the pests.

But Derek shook his head, and turned tiles’ attention away from the furniture, and right back to his growing illness. “No. I bet you’ve got the flu, Stiles. And that means that, unless you want to be sick and trapped in a moving vehicle with a fever of one-hundred or whatever, we’re not going anywhere.”

Stiles immediately furrowed his brow, confused and a bit concerned, although the worry of being stuck there for a few days was slightly lessened by the reveal that the whole travelling thing was mostly delaying the inevitable, anyway. But it still was a weight on his mind, the first of many soon to come.

But, sure, the flu was definitely worse than a little old cold, he’d had a few before, obviously. Memories of the unbearable heat trapped in one’s own head, the odd effect such roaring temperatures seemed to have on the very passage of time and the confines of space, being forced by his own failing body to lie in bed the entire day, only waking to try his best at getting down whatever food his father had laid out for him on the night stand.

But how did Derek know that?

Stiles asked just that, and got a quick response, “Because. I can smell it. I can smell a lot of things, really.”

Oh... that was... weird.

But not entirely impossible, considering Derek was a werewolf, after all, and canines were popularly known for their capacity of scent. So sure, maybe he could somehow smell the growing disease in his sweat or something, as unnerving as that was.

“But why’s it such a big deal?” he then asked. “It’s just the flu, I’ll get over it in a few days-”

“No, Stiles. It is a big deal.”

Stiles huffed, fists balling in the covers, but he wasn’t sure if it was for his rapidly growing annoyance at another tizzy so recently after one just hours ago, or a growing state of days-long confusion brought on by a fever. “What? Are you afraid of catching it or something?”

“No, I’m not. I can’t get sick, really. Or infected, or anything like that.”

“Great, those super over-powered werewolf abilities once again...”

“Stiles, this is serious,” Derek said, walking nearer to Stiles now sitting up on the bed.

“Wait,” Derek huffed, expression doing a one-eighty to pure confusion as his nose flared, strong senses honing in directly on Stiles’ location, “I can smell something, I’m fucking sure of it this time. And it’s coming from you, Stiles. What in the hell is it?”

Derek wasn’t really that close to Stiles, but for some reason, it seemed really, really close to him.

Too close.

_ Way  _ too close.

Stiles suddenly scrambled back on the bed, and, although he can’t, of course, relay this information to anyone other than his husband now, he’ll forever remember it.

Just how perfect it was. How awful it was.

How he was lying on his back, fingers still clawing through the sheets, staring up at a man nearly twice his size—an alpha, and he looked like it as he glared at him with some odd mixture of obvious intense emotions, so strong even just upon his face Stiles could practically feel it in his heart.

The confusion, worry, fear, irritation, and, and, something else-

Stiles could smell it.

He could... smell it?

That didn’t make any fucking sense. Stiles couldn’t smell shit, shouldn’t, so why, why could he swear that he smelled something more than just the normal scents of cologne, after-shave, air freshener?

And why did it smell so mind-blowingly, universe-rendering, utterly  _ good? _

Stiles was so out of it at that point, head fogged by some delicious scent of indescribable musk and thoughts he was sure were tinged with the beginnings of a horrible fever, that he only realized it when Derek, with his somewhat slightly clearer mind, spoke it aloud, and made it into reality:

_ “Stiles,”  _ he began, and only when he felt a pang of terror in his heart at Derek’s own saucer-eyed, rosy-faced expression, did he realize just how utterly  _ relaxed  _ he’d become, if just a moment, for some reason-

_ “You’re... you’re in  _ heat.”

It could very well have been a question, so more like “heat?”, but it was hard to comprehend, hard to recall. And so was everything else, a struggle that would mount only more and more in the coming few days of his fertile heat, a truly awful experience that he only had to go through once to know just how much it fucking sucked.

But lying there, facing an alpha whose wonderful scents of pine and pheromones he could finally acknowledge like a proper, functional omega should, Stiles felt any shock or horror that could have come from that statement all drain away, along with the rest of his brain.

Still sniffling with whatever sickness he’d caught, his mind was affected not only by the warmth of a flu fever, but also clogged up, made extra delirious, by a fresh, becoming heat. One that his body hadn’t experienced in almost an entire year, one that had come on so suddenly because he’d failed to recognize the signs of his growing impatience and horniness with the pre-heat, one that would probably be so intense he would be practically out of his mind with lust and need.

And all focused on the powerful alpha still hovering directly over him, on the little soft bed of an inn far, far from any other civilization.

Heat was such a funny thing, just like an awful fever or mind-altering drug, in the way it twisted one’s mind, their thoughts, all reasoning.

And so, that’s why instead of behaving normally, and maybe denying or panicking or just running straight from the problem, Stiles faced it head on.

He didn’t even think it was a problem at all, being trapped in one room with an unmated alpha, while he was entering a heat that left him at his most fertile and absolutely vulnerable, all while they were still being chased by a pack of violent, threatening werewolves.

No. He thought it was  _ perfect. _

And so he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	11. All Caught Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Sorry for my lateness! >< I forgot Thanksgiving was this thursday, and thought that if nothing else, it was fitting because Stuffed Full was of course posted last Thanksgiving! :D 
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> As such, there is some smut in this, but it’s definitely not the whole chapter, so don’t get too excited! That’ll be next time >:) 
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> Promise I won’t be late next time, though! Might post Wednesday or Thursday, we’ll see, but I definitely will keep up the weekly posting, as I think it’s a decent rate! And plenty of smut and all that goodness from here on out!! :D

“Stiles,” Derek said immediately after, which was, of course, to be expected.

“You’re an omega?!” however, was not nearly, as expected.

Because... just...

_What the fuck?_

How could Derek... _not_ know that?

_How?_

How could he only have figured it out literally _right now,_ when Stiles was finally beginning his _actual fucking heat?_ How blind or dumb or some other inane thing did Derek have to be to ignore every sign along the way, in the entire week leading up to this?

How had he never picked up on the obvious shift in his scent, the slow morph and the growing intensity of it that even Stiles slowly was becoming aware of, before it all exploded in his face and transformed into the sex-crazed monster that he now was?

Well... maybe he wasn’t quite as sex-crazed as he originally thought. It was probably just the shock from the revelation that Derek really was a total fucking dumbass, or could make himself just that blissfully ignorant, or something, but still, it was just... amazing.

So amazing as to temporarily lax an omega in full-blown heat out of his daze, but soon enough, Stiles closed his mouth just as he spread his legs, and a smile once again appeared on his face, just as the rest of his brain and body told him it should be.

“Sure I am,” he practically purred back, trying his best for sultry and enticing, although he really wasn’t sure how that worked, literally at all. But damn, if he wasn’t going to try his best anyway.

Perhaps it worked, or perhaps it didn’t, because Derek was still just hovering over him, still stuck stood at the end of the bed, staring down at him with an utterly unreadable expression.

And as much as Stiles would love to see something more like a smile, a flash of confidence of the alpha in his omega’s idealistic mind that would quickly woo him away to a night of pure, unprotected passion, that wasn’t what he was really getting, nor what remained of his properly thinking brain was expecting, either.

But he did expect at least... something.

Even if it wouldn’t be ideally what he had in mind, Stiles would have liked some show of cognisance in the man towering over him. Some small twitch of the lips, of the brow, but instead, he was utterly motionless.

Stiles, of course, quickly grew impatient.

And as such, he started throwing a little bit of a hissy fit, which would normally be even out-of-character and childish for even the likes of him, but he was in no state to act typical.

If anything, all those horrible, badly-acted “educational” videos on puberty and the oft-whispered, dreaded _heat_ that surely over-exaggerated how bad such a thing was just to put more chemicals in their youth, were, turns out, actually quite accurate.

Of course, he already knew this somewhat from the first heat that he had to endure, the one that marked him forever as an omega, much to his great rue as all his beta and sprinkling alpha friends and foes made great fun of him for it.

Omegas were quite rare, even in modern society, where they died much less often from child birth, which they were prone to having in great numbers, for obvious, biological reasons. But for all the technological advances in the world, stigmas still remained around them and their behaviour, and so added to that initial rarity was the ever-present faux pas of an omega’s heat of pure, animal passion.

And so if Stiles weren’t made so brazen by all the hormones and adrenaline coursing through his body, he himself would be horrified by his current behaviour. And knowing all that rarity and all, Derek before him very well may never have seen an omega in heat with his very eyes, either, which might explain his lack of... doing literally anything.

So Stiles began to toss and turn, writhing on the thin bedsheets they always brought everywhere, trying to catch the eye, the attention, of the alpha—mm, the wonderful, glorious alpha—idly standing above him.

That fog begins to blur his memories just as much as time began to crinkle the edges, but it still remains oddly lucid, compared to his last heat, at least. Perhaps it was because his omega knew that there was an actual, living, sweet-fucking-smelling alpha in the same room, just a short little bed end away from taking him and doing _exactly_ what his body had been needing for _forever._

Or, perhaps it was because it was Derek.

The mysterious, oddly charismatic, pine-scented, surprisingly sweet and momentarily vulnerable, Derek Hale. The man whose dangerous past was both a major turn-off, and, to put it simply, a real turn-on, too.

He wasn’t necessarily a bad man, nor the archetypical bad boy, either, but the mere thought of his built, toned body, made even stronger by his super secret werewolf abilities, and all the things his pretty mouth could do, as well...

Fuck, if it didn’t make Stiles feel like a bitch in heat, soaking wet in his panties, thighs metaphorically spread wide for anything to look at him, scent him, _take_ him.

Except, all of that was literal, because that’s exactly what he was doing.

But Derek must have really been something special, because in that mere half a minute that seemed to stretch on for infinity, Stiles couldn’t get so much as a single glance to his warm, needy pussy hidden just beneath his pants and panties quickly becoming stained with his own bodily fluids.

No, Derek was stone solid, eyes frozen, for so long, so many seconds, that it gave Stiles a second thought.

Like a light breaking into a dark clearing, somehow it burst through the heavy, clinging mist of his utter depravity to make him realize that, hey, maybe something more serious than just Derek having cold feet was going on, here.

And it turned out, Stiles didn’t think that a second too soon.

Because then the door burst in, and it was all over.

The decisecond it took him to blink, it was already far too late.

Compared to the natural senses of a human male, werewolves proved no match. In terms of speed, strength, numbers, and ferocity, they all outdid him, made what little animal he had in him in innate instincts and in the heat-stricken, needy omega finally beginning to emerge from him seem like child’s play in comparison.

In a fight, he would surely be no match, as all his confused little eyes saw was a flash of fur of differing hues and lengths, all flowing atop forms two-legged through their blurs of action, so fast he couldn’t make out the slightest detail, let alone know what was really happening.

Thankfully, the fight was not his.

It didn’t seem to involve him in the slightest, as he was left on the bed to lay there on his back like the wide-eyed fool that he really was, captivated but frozen with fear the entire time, only the loud pounding of his own heart the only reminder that he had a place in this scene, too.

It took less than ten seconds for the entire battle to be over, if you could even call it that. Because maybe it would be a little disappointing to say, but for all the chasing, running, scraping by for days, refilling the car with gas that would quickly run low from its constant hours on the road that wore down the tires as well as their spirits—or, at least, Stiles’, surely—it wasn’t much of a climax, at all.

Because one on three, it just wasn’t fair. They had him pinned against a wall, claws of steely grey or blood-rusted brown nailing him by the wrists to the weak plaster behind, the daggers of their nails either just barely missing toughened flesh to mingle with the dark fur of his wolfed-out form, or brutally ripping right into his skin, drawing entire rivulets of bright blood from the pinprick wounds.

But if Derek felt any pain from the biblical-style assault, he made no signs of it. Not even the slightest twitch of his mouth morphed part-canine, long fangs in a half-muzzle allowing for even more space for all those sharp, pearly teeth, pulled back in an animal snarl.

His eyes were blood-shot and an odd gold, filled with loathing for his captors, but it was obvious by the lack of real tension in the air, the way the other three in some level of transforming slouched or smiled or directly laughed at him, that this had happened many times before. Just in other places, other hotels, other styles of confrontation. But the result was always the same.

“I’ll admit,” that large, ugly one grinned, simply pacing in his tattered clothing as he allowed his cohorts to hold him by their talons, “I thought you’d to better than a week, but, ah,” he sniffed the air with a nose just beginning to turn wolf, although his senses were surely just as keen, “I think I might just be able to sniff out why…”

The grey one managed to laugh at the bad pun, but the white one—what was her name? Miranda?—Miranda merely rolled her eyes. But they all sniffed, and it was even more obvious as their eyes all landed exactly on Stiles’ location on the bed in the other corner of the room, what exactly they were talking about.

It was then that Stiles’ own weak human nose, even in heat that made all his senses enhanced like some sort of natural steroid, picked up on their scents, too.

And it was horrible.

It had been easy, in the day or two leading up to this where that sixth sense of alpha and omega pheromones began to creep back into his awareness, to ignore all those mingling scents, or, at least, to make it not obvious how disgusting some of them were.

His senses had been weaker then, brain not yet specially tuned to scents like those like a shark to blood. But now, now they certainly were, and it was more than a little overwhelming.

Mostly, as with roughly 90% of the population, both in theory and in practice, was the dull, ignorable odour of beta. Unlike the indescribable, unique musk of an omega or an alpha, they came off as much more regular, typical scents. Perfume, something chemical-y, or perhaps more natural, like freshly cut grass, it all depended on the person.

The female, Miranda, smelled like beta. Light, light perfume and something like that peculiar smell of rain. It was easy to miss, even easier than some betas, and that’s when Stiles got the idea that she was mated, and therefore, her scent was even lessened.

The grey male next to her, was the same. Mated beta, more than likely, her mate. Although, he smelled more like wood dust, much less appetizing, in Stiles’ humble opinion. Not that it really mattered, none of them would ever interest him anything like Derek and his wonderful, alpha scent.

But the last one, the large, russet werewolf, he was the worst. Because he wasn’t a beta, and Stiles knew it immediately, purely by instinct.

It was like the little omega in him reared and gagged the moment it hit his nostrils and registered in his brain. So heady and repulsive a scent, like a clogging, near-solid level of the strongest kind of stinking cologne. Something about the scent itself—muddy and earthy in a disgusting way, rather than the attractive sorts, like in Derek’s—with hints of almost rotting, like weeks-old trash, combined with the sheer migraine-inducing intensity of it, nearly made him physically double over to try to gasp fresh air.

But no matter where he moved in that small one-bedroom room, there was simply no getting away from it. All those scents, as benign or as horrifically unappealing as they were, trapped in there without a window or proper ventilation to allow that sweet scent of Derek’s to keep him grounded and blissfully happy in his heat, as he had been just a minute ago.

Oh, what he wouldn’t do to simply be alone again, with only him. Able to do exactly what he and his omega so desperately wanted, so horribly needed, for days, weeks, _months._

_Forever._

Through the oppressive smells and stench, the fear that came with being caged in a room of werewolves and alphas with the door blocked by the largest, nastiest of them all, Stiles managed again something only made possible by that small, but unshakably driven omega hidden somewhere inside of him.

For when the leader inevitably spoke, a teasing, unkind voice of, “Well, looks like you lied, didn’t you, Derek? He isn’t your fuckin’ mate, so embarrassingly stinking of heat. I will admit, I am a little surprised he even is an omega, but I guess that’s why you kidnapped him, huh? A beta bitch just wouldn’t do, would it-”

“He didn’t kidnap me!”

Everyone in the room turned back to the small body still lying back on the bed, surprised.

Most of all, Derek.

Stiles smiled as he continued, even as his heart raced in his ribs, half-unsure of what the hell he was doing, where it was coming from, “I came willingly. It was _my_ idea.”

Miranda and her mate raised a brow, as the omega in heat even managed to add a small giggle. Even as delirious as the heat and the notes of illness in him probably made him, it was pretty damn impressive to laugh in the faces of ones who could so easily rip out his throat with a single swipe, they had to admit.

“Then why are you still unmated, huh?” the grey one cocked his head, ignoring his boss’ pointed glare at even amusing an obvious slut silly with lust.

“Oh,” Stiles gasped, tilting his head coy, fingers coming together on his chest beginning to sweat with heat, or fever, or both, “we were just getting to that, actually.”

“Is that right?” Miranda asked, “Because, you know, that was the entire reason we were going to kill him, right now.”

That did succeed in snapping Stiles out of his smug stupor, just a little.

“Yes,” she sneered, in that twisted way a half-were’s disfigured guise did, “we’ve been chasing him a while, and it’s been fun, but this recent turn of events? We must say, we’re excited for another thing to chase after, see what happens, but if it turned out he was just leading us on for nothing… again?

“We just couldn’t take that,” she shook her head, tutting, as she shifted her grip on the wall, and drove her claws in deeper to the wounds probably already beginning to heal.

“Well, th-that’s what we were going to do, so!” Stiles’ wit ran dry, as did his throat, his courage. Only the clamminess, the discomfort of his heat and fever remained to egg him on, try to get them to leave them the hell alone.

And not kill Derek, of course.

“Is that right, Derek?” the hulking, pacing alpha questioned, sharp, like an order.

Up until then silent, as though considering his options, or perhaps even accepting the fate of death which at some point had become less of a question and more of an inevitability in his mind after months of the chase, Derek finally spoke.

“Yes.”

And that was it. Another quick flurry of movement, blurry and practically invisible, and the claws were withdrawn, a body left to crumple down onto the floor, and multi-coloured fur became shades of human skin, their tattered clothing the only unusual things left upon them as the door somehow shut, as though with the wind.

Leaving only them two in the room, the rest of the world, neighbours, staff, everyone, blissfully ignorant as to the very-nearly double murder that could easily have just happened in some cosy hotel in probably Oregon.

The room was a little more than dishevelled, with clocks and boring paintings and fake plants strewn across the floor, but far more important than any of that to Stiles then, was the injured now completely-human man kneeling on the other side of the room.

He leaped across the bed, onto the carpeted floor, avoiding the shards of glass and clay pottery to try and check on Derek just before him.

But before he could even stop and take a good look at him and his wrists, or read the expression on his face, everything changed, once again.

But this time, it was a welcome change.

Just as welcome as the way he noticed the stench in the room was wafted away, as though it had never even been there in the first place, and he was wrapped up in a sweet, delicious, utterly _alive_ scent.

_Derek._

The heat of warmth surrounded him, so immense he could have almost believed that that was what carried him up and onto the bed once again, if not for the feeling of strong, comforting hands firmly pressed against his hips.

Safe to say, the perfect virgin that was Stiles at that moment had never felt anything like that in his life. Not the heat of another human’s body, not the strength of a man’s, and certainly not the passion of a sexually compatible alpha, all directed _right at him._

But as soon as he could get over the tidal wave of lust and excitement that surged right through his body that had grown cold with anticipation just a second ago—what a rollercoaster the past few minutes had been, truly—Stiles was a little more than confused.

He looked up at Derek to see if it really was him, if this really was real. And it was him, of course, and he was really there, as he confirmed it by reaching up to touch his face, running a finger over the hollow of his cheek bone, just as he’d always wanted to over those hours in the car.

But he _really_ had to make sure, so he asked anyway, “Is this really happening?”

Derek looked down at him, expression mostly unreadable, as per usual. But Stiles could tell, for once, that he was thinking. The wheels turning in his head that must have been growing as foggy as Stiles’, so close to the metaphorical yin to their yang, and in such a sexual position, as well.

But somehow, Derek managed to resist the simpler half of his brain, and merely stare down at Stiles, even as he was trapped beneath his big, bulging forearms, a cage of warmth and pheromones, “I-I don’t know,” he said, surprisingly apprehensive.

Stiles blinked. Far from what he was expecting, nor the bold alpha his horny omega wanted so badly.

“Do you… really want this, Stiles?” Derek asked, pulling his head back and up just slightly. It was just to give him more room, to try to clear their heads from all those dangerous hormones, but it was like a major blow to Stiles’ heart. Or, perhaps, just his omega’s lofty ego.

“What the hell do you mean, Derek?” Stiles bit back, feeling a wave of irrational fury lash over him, from sickness or heat, he didn’t know, nor did he really care. “Of course I fucking want this, want you, want you to mate me. Why else would I have come with you, or stayed with you, or said all that stuff just a second ago? You think I’m just talking nonsense or something?”

Derek shook his head, but it was slower, clumsier than it should have been. The piercing look to his eyes was somewhat subdued, lids heavier in what had to be lust, so close to the scent of mouth-watering slick. “No, no… I think you’re telling the truth, Stiles. It’s just, you’re in heat, and you’re making me go into rut I think, and you don’t really know what you’re saying-”

“Of course I fucking do!” Stiles spit, so outraged he tore his arms up from the worn linens to wrap them around the back of Derek’s neck, pulling him closer to his face, his lips, which continued moving, “Stupid heat or not, you know I like you Derek. That I _really, really like you._ I mean, I’ve got to be one of the worst actors when it comes to a stupid crush, right? Heheh, I bet it was _so_ obvious I was head-over-heels for you, it’s embarrassing. So come on, I like you, and in the case that you like me, let’s do it, so you don’t die, or whatever.”

“See, but that’s the problem. I don’t want to do something you’ll later regret just because of the idiots chasing me and threatening m-”

“Derek, that was a joke. But anyway, I think your life is a little more important than my ‘purity’ or whatever, so come on, let’s _mate._ You know I wouldn’t ask just anyone, just look at how I reacted to that guy-”

“Warden.”

“Yeah, Warden, whatever.” Stiles smiled, as a wave of pure heat prickled his skin, all the way down to low in his stomach, where he began to part his thighs, “Now, can we finally fuck?”

“I’ll get you pregnant.”

Oh.

Hm.

Stiles will be honest, in his filthy, idealistic mind that he was just beginning to gladly come back into, he’d forgotten all about the concept of conception, or protection, or preparation in general. Had just been thinking of butterflies and rainbows and fucking the heat right out of him for toe-curling, pleasure-filled hours.

But yeah, that was kind of the whole point of a heat, wasn’t it?

And the thing about that protection and preparation thing, was that the normal contraceptives of condoms or other barrier-like objects that had the advantage of being a quick wrapper away, was that they weren’t really… designed for alphas and omegas, and especially not in a lust-filled heat, or rut.

It wasn’t that the simple mechanics of it didn’t work. A dick was a dick, just as a pussy was a pussy. It would work like that, even if the inflating property of a fat knot— _mmm_ —made things a bit tricky.

It was that a condom, no matter how great, probably couldn’t stand for the hours of crazed sex that a newly mated couple could very well go through during a heat. And even if it didn’t tear or rip from all that friction, it would still be pressing one’s luck and then some, to count on one’s brain high on sex and pheromones to remember to keep that rubber on in the first place, when their instincts would be screaming at them for the exact opposite. _Mate mate mate,_ and all that garbage.

Then again, that did sound very good right then…

But no! It was true. If Derek fucked him, as he so sorely wanted, and as it would probably end up if they tried literally anything, even an act so inane as fingering would likely lead to full-on penetration with how much it would only aggravate Stiles’ needy omega in his heat, he would surely, surely get pregnant.

And to come back to his father after however many weeks or months with a new boyfriend was one thing. But to come back mated and pregnant? That was an image so horrifying it almost made him literally pale, right then and there on the bed beneath Derek’s striking visage.

But _fuck._ If he didn’t need _so badly_ to be filled with his cock, right then and there, as well. Stiles tried to be logical, to think with his right mind, and not his cock, or his cunt, either, but it was _so hard._

And that word, _hard,_ even just _that_ was enough to get his thoughts wandering back to delicious, awesome sex.

He was utterly fucked.

“Well… what are we going to do, then? You can’t go somewhere else, you don’t have any money-”

“I can sleep in the car.”

“When it’s almost freezing outside?” Stiles shook his head, pouting almost childishly, as just the mere thought of separation made his swimming head filled with dread. “No, I’d sooner do it… besides, they’ll know, won’t they? And what will they do then, if they know we’re separated, and I’m still in heat?”

Stiles bit his finger, half in genuine thought, and half because he knew it would look damn good to an alpha now hovering directly over him, face so close to his he could see every detail of his icy blue eyes, the dilation of his pupils in intensifying desire. Even his scent seemed to deepen, and Stiles was sure it was from rut, as well as their proximity… and, well, probably something else, too.

“No, they’ll kill you, and maybe also me,” Stiles spoke softly against his crooked finger upon his glossed lips, eyes fluttering half-shut as he finally gave out his last leg of small resistance against his own body’s wants and desires, and let that warm feeling deep inside wash over the rest of him like warm water, “We need to do something. We _need to, Derek._ We don’t have a choice. So…”

The movement of his lower body brought both of their attentions directly to it. Derek’s eyes snapped down, at first surprised and confused, but then quickly cooling with an intense, knowing expression.

As Stiles parted his thighs, sliding around Derek’s hips like a warm, pressing cage of cotton and soft flesh hidden just beneath it. It was like a perfect fit, as he angled his knees inward, half-assedly trapping his lower half to his own body pinned beneath it.

He made a little breathy sound, as he felt the intense heat two thin slices of fabric away from being directly upon his bare skin. The feeling of hard muscle against the soft curves of his smaller stomach. Both of their smells, alpha, omega, becoming so strong almost as to become suffocating, as he felt his inner thighs become further slicked with fresh wetness.

And all because he could feel it.

Straining hard against those dark jeans he almost always wore, right against him, it was unmistakable, impossible to hide, now. His hot and heavy erection, so close but so far from being pressed right against the warm mound of his fertile cunt, sliding between his comparatively much smaller cock and balls, until he thrusted right inside-

Even Stiles was surprised when his arms wrapped around Derek’s neck suddenly pulled, fingernails on opposing sides digging into the bare muscles of his upper arms, letting out a needy little sound as he felt a week’s worth of abstinence suddenly all come to a head-

And cum he did.

White-hot pleasure caught him up like a web, shooting from his head to toe and snapping him like a bow strung way too tight, so fast he didn’t even know it was coming on until he was already in the middle of orgasm. An intense one, way, way more intense than any he’d ever had in his whole life, combined, fucking easily.

Way better than even his fervent heat climaxes, because this one didn’t feel hopeless and mindless. Sure, there was plenty of confusion and delirium from a brain practically melting from a heat and a simultaneous fever, but knowing that there was something—some _one_ —to keep him sane, to actually satisfy him for once in his lonely life, that made the whole ultra-embarrassing, breath-taking orgasm well fucking worth it.

_All from literally nothing,_ he thought as he lay back, panting against the cover as his arms fell uselessly to his sides, legs in a lazy bow as he felt fresh pre-cum quickly cooling against his own feverish, sweaty skin.

He came after barely even pressing himself against Derek’s cock, clothes on, without so much as a word of input from his alpha.

Well, not _his_ alpha. And considering the open-mouthed, wordless expression Derek was giving him then, maybe he never would be. And Stiles had not only made a major fool of himself by cumming practically on his clothed, hard cock—although, of course, a boner was no indicator of willingness, and oh God, what if Derek didn’t even want to fuck him after all-

And then Derek swallowed him up in a kiss.

Immediately a deep one, tongue and all. It was obvious how experienced Derek was, in the unique way he manoeuvred his lips, squeezed his tongue against his still shocked lax in his own mouth.

Stiles blinked, opening them only to a pair of closed eyes, dark lashes, a contented expression.

And not only then did he know that Derek would really, actually fuck him—thank fucking God—but that this was more than one quick night to save their lives, more than an interesting tale to tell one day to disbelieving suitors at a bar.

This was more, so much more.

And so he kissed right back, with all the fervour absolute inexperience gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	12. First Conception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Wooo, they finally fuck! :D And oh boy, do they, this chapter is somehow nearly 9k words long o.o Hopefully that can make up for my naughty laziness, I really should work on that lol. Anyway, yes, pwp, hope you all enjoy! <3

“Wow,” Derek said, “you came without me even touching you?”

His breath was hot and heavy on Stiles’ neck, warm and humid, voice so deep and close it felt as though it were reverberating throughout his entire progressively melting jelly of a body.

“I didn’t even have to do anything at all, and yet you still came on my cock like a little slu-”

“Mandy!” Stiles has to interject his own sullen, silent conscience. “Honey, don’t you think it’s high time for you to get ready for your aunty and uncle?” Stiles laughs only a little nervously, clearing his throat and hiding his blushing face with a well-placed hand under the tilted cheek.

“Aw, but I don’t wanna have to get all in a dress and tie my hair up!”

“Oh come on, sweetie, don’t you remember how just yesterday you were complaining you couldn’t do that except for one day a week?”

“... Yes.”

Stiles laughs again, and pats her lightly on the shoulder as she already begins to squirm off of his knee. “Then go on, and have Clara help you get yourself all dolled up!”

They wait for her to leave the room, and as the door shuts, the atmosphere completely changes, the sole couple left all alone.

Finally.

Of course, it was a far cry from being  _ actually  _ all alone. The house was still full, of life and laughter and distant childish yells and cracking teenaged voices. But it was as close to alone as they tend to get in the days, surprising enough to Stiles that even Derek’s familiar touch to his shoulder is startling enough to draw a gasp from him.

Then Stiles shakes himself out of his silly stupor, and warms up to the touch of his always reliable, touchstone of a mate.

“I’m guessing you were thinking about more than just getting all the kids ready for our little night out, weren’t you?”

“Mhm,” Stiles is quick to admit it, sighing as he presses into solid, but giving, muscle. Even after being a decade with the same man, that little flutter in his heart at the electricity of skin against his still remains.

“Well, that just leaves me to wonder,” Derek chuckles, propping Stiles’ face up by the chin, slowly tilting, angling him, until their gazes meet in a friendly but mischievous battle of wits, “were you thinking about the past, or the future?”

“Both, of course,” Stiles giggles as he draws the distance between their lips soon to nothing, “and, maybe, a little bit of the present, too.”

Certainly, that is true.

He thinks of the present, the mouth, tongue, against his, even as his mind wanders to the future of what surely would be a wonderful night together, and all the way to the past, literally half a lifetime ago.

God, it was nearly… two decades ago now? Christ, he feels old.

But no, he knows he’s not. And even if he was, it’s no matter. As he enjoys the experience that both of them have in this sweet, but sensual moment, merely a small hint for what would come in just a few hours, he can think fully of the past, alone in his thoughts with only Derek’s warm embrace in the otherwise blessed emptiness of the study.

Back to the past, “... and yet you still came on my cock like a little slut,” Derek had said.

It seems so silly now, now that he knows Derek practically better than his own self, but back then, this was all so fresh and new to Stiles to be nearly scary. And at the very least, very, very intimidating.

He remembers blushing furiously, even more than he already would have because, y’know, he did just cum right in front of him—on him—and all. The embarrassment, the shame, the panic and shock peeking like sunlight from behind the fluffy cloud of his heat, seeming only to grow by the second, as his orgasm wore off, and Derek’s scent of heavy, musky rut settled in his lungs like a sweet mist.

But Derek put that all to rest with a single smile.

Even then, even without knowing him much at all; behind that steely face of the protective, responsible alpha they both so badly wanted him to be, he probably felt just as many insecurities as Stiles did: Should they really be doing this? What would become of them if Stiles really did fall pregnant? So young and still so dependent on his father back in California, miles away, without so much as a warning for any of this-

No. They had very little choice, at this point. It was far, far too late for any decisions that could have effectively reversed the position they now found themselves in. Suppressants, preparation, knowledge, that they had not the time nor the will power for anymore.

Besides, would it really be  _ all that bad? _

Of course, it was probably just their dumb alpha and omega within them that was reassuring their conscious minds, in attempts to seal the deal, and mate. That was the life goal of any being, after all, and alphas and omegas had always been known to be historically exceptional at that particular thing.

It would have taken more than the already super human levels of abilities even Derek possessed to overcome the sheer state of his rut-addled mind, so close to a panting omega that had just cum on his cock, so fucking close he could feel the wetness of Stiles’ slick beginning to seep into his own pants.

So, without much in the way any more for their steadily depleting levels of responsibility or awareness, or, really, thinking in general, they got on well with the whole mating thing.

Lying beneath the solid body of a strong, seemingly confident alpha, swathed in a bed of pine scented, warm goodness like a most luxuriant blanket, Stiles felt every little thought, worry, second guess, fall right out of his head like water down a river, clear and pure and uncaring.

The heat did it to him. Just as the rut slowly but surely converted Derek from his usual mysterious, broody self into a much simpler, easier creature, it left them with a high like no drug could compare.

And the usual clawing, lonely feeling of a heat or rut in absence of any other life form, as was the safest way to do it, of course, was utterly gone. Leaving only that sweet, blurry-lensed glow to the world, soft and fuzzy, but almost deceptively so.

For, in reality, the twin fevers affecting them were little more than a biological ruse to lower their defences, make them nice and content, like melted chocolate in the other’s hands, feeling as safe as if they’d known the other for years.

But the real goal, of course, was, and always would be, to fuck. Mate, impregnant, knot, whatever you wanted to call it, that was simply it. Such an animalistic thing, so basal and thoughtless it would surely be embarrassing had they been in literally any other state of mind.

But, at the moment, Stiles thought it quite delightful. He could only imagine that Derek felt the same, grinning down at him somehow simultaneously like a concerned, impassioned lover, and a starving, lurking wolf staring its prey directly in the eyes seconds before the killing lunge.

_ How delightful! _

Stiles was stupid, yes. But he was stupid with lust and love and other amazing feelings he’d never felt before.

So he more than happily laid fully back on the soft bed, spread his legs ever-so-slightly, and let Derek take him exactly as he pleased.

But, it had seemed, Derek wasn’t quite so sure.

As foolhardy as he was by nature, and as much courage as his rut gave him, he wasn’t quite  _ that  _ gone yet, it seemed.

So Stiles, for all his virgin inexperience and self-consciousness, sat back up for a moment to wrap his forearms around Derek’s wonderfully thick neck, and pulled him down into an open-mouthed, moaning kiss.

He was ready, he wanted to say, but found it hard past how badly he suddenly wanted to suck on Derek’s tongue. He was so, so fucking ready, always had been, even if he hadn’t known it.

He spread his thighs further, angled his hips up so he could tie his legs around Derek’s massive back and press them together from head to groin.

He practically cried out in pure pleasure, mewling right into Derek’s mouth swirling the most mesmerizing patterns into his. He earned a little growl right back for that, and although it might have been more of a werewolf thing than a normal human one, it was odd how  _ right  _ it felt to hear such a response, feel it reverberate throughout their connected mouths and throughout the rest of their grinding bodies.

And as delightful as it might have felt to grind against Derek’s cock, grinning as he knew how wet he was making it from his own cum from that embarrassing little climax but a minute ago, Stiles didn’t really want to go through the shame of cumming untouched twice in a row. He might be an utter virgin, but he didn’t want to have to remember that for the rest of his life.

Of course, it would have been more hot than anything else, but he was more concerned, or perhaps outright focused on, getting Derek’s cock inside of him.

Both then and now, years apart, just the thought of such a thing sends racing thrills up and down his spine, electrifying every hair, pore, cell of his body to shocked alertness. Never fails to have him grinding his thighs together like a whore, his cunt to suddenly slicken itself to the point of practically drowning in his own slick.

But before he could have it fucking him, he needed to see it.

That could have been a point of contention, major worry. Like, what if Derek was actually somehow subpar in that department? Or what if he had it, but didn’t know how to really  _ use  _ it?

Of course, Stiles’ omega never even allowed these thoughts to fully form in his over-heating brain, let alone fully mutate into a God damned expression or an entire sentence.

If anything, the possibilities, expectations, all that, only got him more excited and aroused, as he turned their heated make out into more of a competition, mixing tongue with teeth and fang as they both began to laugh at their own playfulness while doing something so unforgivably depraved.

Quickly, that face wrestling turned into full-on wrestling, as Stiles ramped up his shameless rutting against Derek’s erection into whole-body thrashes, trying to snake out from underneath him, although they both knew it wasn’t to get away.

Oh, no no. Much the opposite.

He only wanted to get closer, they both knew, but Stiles whispered it anyway, between little nips and kisses exchanged between their panting mouths swamped in the humidity of their own combined breaths.

And after some half-assed struggling more to tease them both than actually resist, Derek allowed him to win. Allowed, of course, because it was obvious without even trying that such a muscular alpha would always overpower a much smaller, softer built omega such as Stiles.

God, but that just turned him on even more, as he climbed atop Derek like the horniest, raunchiest cowgirl to ever exist, practically drooling on himself as he couldn’t help but continue twirling his hips and grinding his ass against the erection positioned directly against his own.

He moaned loudly into the air, eyes closed as he felt his tiny cocklet twitch against one obviously twice its size, and that was without it actually even being fully unleashed into the air. God, he was gonna cum again, if he didn’t manage to get some damn control of himself.

So, somehow, Stiles managed to peel his eyes back open to a reality half-lit by a dusky sunset, and make out through the orange surfaces and moody grey shadows, Derek’s belt.

Always there, always tempting him. But now, he could finally push that pesky shirt right out of the way, and get to that hunk of silver always cock blocking him.

Well, more like cock blocking Derek. But Stiles wanted to get fucked really bad right now, so who cared about technicalities like that anyway.

But just before he could finally lay his fingers down on his awaiting prize, Stiles felt a sudden veil of self-awareness come over him like a quiet hush, and looked up.

“C… can I?” he asked, feeling suddenly small and utterly ridiculous, already kicking himself for his embarrassing sluttines-

“Stiles,” Derek said, in an unwavering tone that caught his attention immediately, “of course you can, baby.”

_ Baby? _

W… wow.

Hadn’t even officially started dating—hell, hadn’t even fucking kissed before this very hour!—and they were already going strong with the pet names!

Not that… Stiles was really complaining, as he blushed fervently, even sat right atop Derek’s hips, staring down at the straining tent in his pants and moving to undo his belt and fly.

Cognitive dissonance really was something, sometimes.

Nevertheless, that consent with a pet name thrown on top was exactly the last bit of encouragement that Stiles needed to push him over the edge, never to return.

Because the second he unzipped Derek’s fly all the way, only to realize too late that he apparently went commando, his heat and his omega took him over entirely.

There it was. Springing to life from the confines of its cotton prison to stand tall and proud, blushing heavily at the tip so it almost seemed angry when combined with the impressive, bulging veins texturing it.

He bet it would feel so fucking amazing in his tight pussy.

Fuck! He almost made himself squirt just by fucking thinking, holy shit. He really had to be more careful with his… thoughts…

Anyway, yes, as he regained his breath and his composure—as well as he could, anyway—Stiles sat properly upright to observe the cock before him.

It definitely was impressive, to say the least. Easily more than the average for a human male, probably even for a werewolf male, which Stiles imagined would be much, much larger than a human’s in the first place.

All that is to say, Derek’s cock was absolutely massive.

And not only was it long, it was wonderfully thick, too. Not only would it be able to reach deep into every last bit of his cunt, but it would be able to fuck him nice and full, Stiles thought, biting his lip near enough to make it fucking bleed.

Derek laughed, drawing Stiles’ attention to it, although it took a second, as though that beautiful cock had some sort of spell of captivation or something on it. Knowing that werewolves were real and alive, Stiles almost wouldn’t doubt that, at this point.

But no, Derek just waved his hand, said something like, “Sorry, Stiles… you just look so… disbelieving, I couldn’t help but laugh, haha. But hey, if you wanna, touch, or have me do something, go right ahead, okay? I’m definitely not stopping you.”

Stiles nodded, although it was still apparent to the both of him he was really only half there. And as humorous as he would find that thought later, in the moment, it felt oddly serious.

Like some sort of serene, picturesque moment out of a nature documentary, he surveyed the glorious sight before him like a piece of damned art. It was perfect, flawless, exactly what he must have imagined every single time he’d ever dreamt of an alpha cock. Even better than any in any shoddily made video or cheesy porno flick, and, best of all, it was actually real, and physically just a twitch of a finger from being in his hand.

Even the omega in him, normally always goading him into more, more, faster, faster, was silent in his mind. No pressure, nothing, just that slightly dizzying buzz of heat and fever keeping his nerves at bay, allowing him to fully take in the scene.

This would be his first. First time he ever touched a cock other than his own, first time he gave someone else a handjob, maybe even a blow job, whatever. But, certainly, it would also be the first time he lost his virginity, full on vaginal penetration and everything.

Stiles swallowed, and, after a deep breath, finally got over any fears or hesitations he may have had.

And reached out to touch Derek’s cock for the first time.

It’s kind of a funny, awful thought, just how many times he’d done that since then, all the places, times, ways, so on and so on. How, little did he know, that would be merely the first time of many. So, objectively speaking, that one time out of the hundreds he would later, really shouldn’t have mattered all that much.

But oh, it mattered.

A lot.

His eyes went wide as the warmth turned to solid flesh upon his fingertips, his gentle fluttering of touches bringing out the already slightly wet sheen of perspiration and pre-cum upon his bare, erect cock.

Even just beneath two barely-there fingers, it already felt incredible. Which was weird, because just touching something with one’s mere fingertips definitely shouldn’t have felt  _ “incredible”, _ but here we were.

It was probably all those pheromones, the hormones, all of that stuff swimming through his murky head, turning him into almost an entirely different person. Well, no, not an entirely different person, really. The same exact person, but with that superficial layer of self-consciousness and anxiety stripped away, allowing for his true colours, wants and needs, to shine through exactly.

And what he wanted, more than anything in that moment, was to just keep touching Derek. And his gorgeous, dripping monster of a cock.

So he did. Two fingers became a full fist, and when that obviously could not even begin to wrap around the thick shaft of his length, it became two hands slowly but steadily working upon him.

It was nothing like touching himself. Not only in that it elicited no pleasure, obviously—although, seeing Derek’s head thrown back against the pillow, eyes shut and mouth open in bliss, it did do  _ something  _ to his own insides, after all—but in the mechanics of it, the stark difference in biology.

Where two average beta males, equipped with the typical masculine biology, could already differ quite a bit in their builds and internal and external anatomy, the difference between an omega and an alpha was perhaps the most extreme one could get in this reality, already bizarre enough with the existence of supernatural werewolves and all.

But perhaps even more bizarre was the very thing he was holding in his hands. Or, rather, that was gliding through his hands, steadily wettening, hot flesh becoming slicker by the second with his own thick, white pearls of pre-cum pouring from the slit of his cock.

Compared to his own, twitching and throbbing still in his pants against the swell of his balls, even those of which were overwhelming, relatively, it was like an entirely different species. The same basic thing, a rod meant to insert into a hole, and then fill it with enough genetic material to repeat the cycle of life all over again.

But being an omega inverted all of that. He might have a penis, as all males did, omega, beta, or alpha, but for his secondary sex, it hardly even mattered. More like a prop, a decoration, a purely vestigial organ with barely any of its original function still intact. It was slightly larger than a clit might be, his arousal surely more visible by the structure of it, but other than some watery ejaculate surely barely viable, if not entirely sterile, it was mostly the same thing.

No, Stiles barely had a dick at all. Especially not one so massive and heavy and… just amazing, as the one he could practically worship with his hands, then. He marvelled at it in his lap, between his thighs becoming sticky with the slick from his cunt, a much more comparable, but simultaneously opposing competitor to the cock before him.

Something like a fervour built in him the more that he touched it. Perhaps it was the fever, or the heat, or something else entirely, but it was like a renewed vigour all over again. Pure heat filled his groin, causing him to squeeze his thighs together, effectively pinning his hands to Derek’s cock in doing so, as well.

He felt himself make a breathy noise in his throat, something between a moan and a small whine, as instinct and desperation took over the rest of his faculties, seeing a hard, bulging cock directly there between his legs, just a second away from tearing his panties down and finally having it fucked deep, deep inside him.

“Stiles,” he heard from above, and looked up to see Derek’s strained, flushed face, “I, I really appreciate what you’re, y’know, doing for me here, but uh, I am a man, after all, so-”

“R-right!” Stiles grinned back, nodding as he took in Derek’s muffled groans like a symphony of the highest compliment. Just to know that he could do that, from his small, untrained hands alone, nearly bring him to a premature orgasm, God, what excitement, truly!

But Stiles couldn’t get too far ahead of himself. He did allow one last flick of the wrist with either hand, thumb pressing into the cum-pooled stretch of skin between the base of his shaft and his balls, feathery fingertips of his other hand spreading over the exposed head of his glans like one final kiss goodbye, and then he finally gave Derek and his lovely cock a well-deserved breath of fresh air.

Stiles looked at his hands, after his near-complete handjob was all said and done. He’d somehow simultaneously been paying the utmost attention to the sex act—like some sort of perverted, enrapturing show—and felt like he’d missed it entirely, mind so full of other thoughts.

So when he saw just how soiled with semi-transparent, off-white pre-cum fresh from Derek’s cock, he was a little more than surprised, even though, of course, that should’ve been a fucking given.

What should he do with it? he’d thought. He couldn’t just wipe it off, not only was that a rather unattractive thought in the first place, but it seemed like it would be… he didn’t know, a waste, he guessed.

So…

He licked it.

Derek seemed to have come to at just the right moment. To watch the omega still hooked over his lap, above his monument of an erection, peeking out his little pink tongue to smear it with the white on his tiny hands, dragging all the way from wrist to a long fingernail in one smooth, purposeful motion.

It was delicious. He would’ve made that known, and audible, had Derek been staring at him or not, he swore.

Well, maybe he wouldn’t have moaned quite as loudly, nor squeezed his eyes shut in apparent bliss, but whatever. It  _ was  _ pretty fucking good, anyway. Sweet and salty, like one might expect any cum to be, but with that delicious, indescribable, musky pheromone-coated scent of  _ alpha _ all over it, in it, comprising its very molecular structure.

From the very first taste, Stiles knew instantly that he was fucked. Not only could his semen  _ potentially  _ have been addicting, he was immediately sure of it.

And oh, how right he would turn out to be.

But then, he just sat there, grinding him and his further slickening, still unfortunately dressed cunt on Derek’s lap, steadily soaking through those little layers of clothing and right into Derek’s crumpled pants, anyhow.

Licking both of his hands like a sweet treat the entire time, all the way from the dripping trails of cum down his elbows to every single on of his fingers, which he popped in and out like the most delicious popsicle, the opportunity for brazen over-sexualization of such acts, of course, not missed to the horny omega giggling about it the entire time he sucked on his fingers.

But finally, he’d had enough, popping his left thumb out for the final time as he let his hands fall down to his own hips. He felt nice and warm, although in reality, it probably wasn’t  _ that  _ large a volume of cum, it still felt… filling.

But oh, how much  _ fuller  _ he could get, he thought to himself, hooking his fingers into his own pants.

That perverted version of liquid confidence sitting warmly inside his tummy was exactly the thing he needed to get him over any worries of self-confidence, and bring him to bring his pants and underwear down in a single, swift motion, completely exposing himself to Derek’s ravenous eyes.

Truly, ravenous. Because once Stiles finished wriggling himself out of his lower attire, and sit with his bottom half completely, blessedly naked upon the wereman’s lap, he looked back to see the other with wide eyes nearly glowing golden, lips slightly parted to reveal pointed teeth and a large, lolling tongue hidden just inside.

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at the completely animal expression, which was enough to snap Derek partially out of it. At least, enough that his eyes stopped glowing that odd colour, and he seemed to regain much of his humanity. Not all of it, though.

Because now, there was nothing stopping them from fucking.

Absolutely nothing.

Stiles went silent as a chill raced up and down his spine. Not of the typical fear, no, but not entirely out of pure, glorious excitement, either.

There was some small mixture of nervousness that managed to get past even all of his omega defences, probably because of the sheer gravity of the situation. His wet, fertile cunt rubbing between Derek’s bulky thighs, looking down to see his own blushing cocklet poking against Derek’s thrice the size of it.

Knowing that there was nothing in the way of them mating. No clothing, no external pressure, no worry of being killed or anything stupid like that.

No, this was it. They were going to fuck, that wonderful, thick cock buried inside of his slick pussy, and then Stiles would be pregnant. Fucking pregnant, with Derek’s seed, and his pups, and oh God-

But just before Stiles could really freak out about this and how fast everything was going, Derek stopped him with a hand around his thigh.

And once Stiles got over just how marvellous a sight that was—that massive, burly hand nearly wrapping around the entire milky thickness of his curvy thighs—he got over himself quickly.

Not all of it was his own doing, though, of course. Quite a bit of it was the sheer horniness, the growing need, deep, deep inside of him. Like petulant waves coursing throughout his entire body, steadily transforming from a curious little buzz to a maddening drive that would inevitably make him restless.

Unless, of course, he did something.

And that something was to satisfy his omega, his heat, his empty, desperate cunt, squeezing down woefully on air.

He just had to fix that one, little problem.

So with shaking legs steadied partially by Derek’s calloused fingers still pressing into either inner thigh, Stiles lifted himself and his pink, slick-soaked pussy into the air, and saddled just a little bit higher up the bed.

But, really, that small repositioning was all he needed to turn his entire world upside down, and convert his mind to actual fucking jelly.

Because there it was.

Hard and throbbing and he swore he could feel it already trying to shoot some of its delicious pre-cum into the slit of his cunt. Derek’s cock perfectly positioned just beneath his pussy, the ever-so-slightly gaping hole between his parted labia puffy with heat and arousal able to  _ feel  _ the head of his cock, just one small thrust away from sinking into him, actually penetrating him.

Making them one.

Stiles found himself frozen for what must’ve been less than a second, but felt much longer. He even held his breath, and in that little moment frozen in time, so did Derek. It seemed the entire world, in fact, paused: the birds outside going fatally silent, any and all sounds of life in the surrounding rooms dying down, leaving just them, just the two of them.

And in the next fateful second, Stiles cemented the path for the rest of his still youthful life, and let his thighs spread out, his ass lowering down.

His cunt spearing itself on the unyielding thickness of Derek’s cock, parting gracefully for its warm, wet head. Just as they were both meant to.

Stiles immediately let out a loud cry, before he could slap his hands over his mouth, closing his eyes as they rolled back in his skull as he was impaled completely open.

_ “A-ah, fuck…”  _ Stiles whimpered.

It hurt. Oh boy, did it hurt, that very first time.

Well, of course, it made sense. Getting penetrated by a full-on, extremely-well-endowed, actual cock compared to the one, or maybe two, fingers he was used to, it was obvious it was going to hurt at least a little.

But man. It really fucking stung, for a good minute there, as he scrunched up his face like he’d just had a mouthful of sour lemon and somehow been caught fully unprepared for it, as the usual slick of his girly cum became mixed with another, slightly less appetizing liquid.

Well, Derek was a werewolf, so maybe he would actually appreciate the blood, but Stiles really, really didn’t want to think about that at the time.

So instead, he just gritted his teeth as Derek patiently rubbed his thumbs on his inner thighs. Little circles really telling Stiles just what a treat Derek was, considering that all but the very head of his cock still had to wait outside of him like a man left in the cold, only able to feel the heat of proximity of Stiles’ smooth cunt, the drips of slick and some small amount of blood more like a tease than anything else.

But after a few deep breaths and reaching down to ensure that, yes, he was still mostly intact down there still, Stiles got over it. In fact, it was probably the rubbing with his hands between his legs that helped to spur him on, ultimately.

Because while it was slightly disconcerting that some of the cool wetness between his fingers was definitely the thinner, less lubricating mixture of his own blood and destroyed hymen, it was also rather… freeing.

No longer would his small, two-finger-sized hole get in the way, he thought with a sudden surge of vigour. From here on out, he would have a perfectly Derek-sized hole. Which was to say, quite big—but not  _ too  _ big, of course.

Because he was still rather  _ tight,  _ even speared on the head of Derek’s still-throbbing cock just barely peeking inside of his pussy, one that he could feel with his fingers still half-assedly checking himself before he stopped the little impromptu handjob once more, and sucked on his fingers partly to calm his own self.

Fuck, there was still so much more to go, he knew, and that was more than a little intimidating, but also highly enticing to Stiles.

So, with his cherry properly popped, Stiles began to spread his thighs wider and wider, going lower and lower, descending bit by little bit onto that hot cock splattered in his own vaginal fluids.

Approximately a third of the way down his cock was when Stiles felt nice and full, in the way that he usually did, at least, when he masturbated, because that was about the depth his fingers could go. Alas, he’d never tried anything more than his own lonely fingers, not even a silicone dildo or some glass beads, so once he got past the ring of Derek’s glans and shoved an equivalent amount of girthy shaft inside, that it really began to hit places inside of him never hit before.

And  _ oh fuck, _ that  _ more  _ than made up for the pain of being de-hymen’d, for fucking sure.

It just felt so  _ good,  _ so  _ right, _ to be fucked down on more and more of Derek’s massive cock. Sure, it was the only cock he’d ever taken, but it had to be the best cock in this plane of reality, Stiles swore.

That lovely cock, combined with the scent of his pheromones, the taste of his cum, made Stiles almost convinced that that whole nonsense of a one-true-love, a true mate, a soulmate, might actually be fucking true.

Because how could such a stunning man be blessed with a scent and a cock that so clearly seemed to be  _ made  _ for him? There was just no way this wasn’t pre-determined by some powerful, perverted God, or a very forgiving universe. No fucking way in hell.

Stiles let out a loud, breathy moan when he’d finally bottomed out. Finally, because it felt like a legitimate, arduous journey to get all the way down. But just as a journey is more about the travel than the destination, he’d really enjoyed every second to get to the warm, slick-wet base of his balls, and so too, was he eager to experience in reverse on the way back up.

But before he could get too far ahead of himself and lost completely in heat sex, Stiles swirled his hips lightly on Derek’s lap, and simply enjoyed the feeling of just being  _ full. _

Fucked entirely full of cock, so much that it felt like from head to toe, he was all wrapped up in Derek. Really though, that wasn’t true, because he was still riding him cowgirl, and Derek seemed so far away, lying back on the bed with his own expression of tortured pleasure, fingers only able to claw dully at Stiles’ thighs in a way that made Stiles pretty sure his pussy must have felt just as good as Derek’s cock to him.

So to kill the two lone worries of his head with one stone—the first being that he was not currently entirely crushed beneath Derek’s immense heat and weight; the second being that he couldn’t be properly fucked into the mattress by an alpha with twice the muscle mass of his own like a true omega whore—Stiles began to move.

Initially, it felt very good, because it meant raising himself up and therefore dragging that wonderfully thick cock against every angle of his tight cunt all over again, making him swear he could see literal fireworks behind his fluttering lashes, but then he got to the very top of that cherry-coloured glans, and that’s when it got hard.

Not the cock, that was already plenty hard, obviously. Instead, things got rather difficult for Stiles. Because this little manoeuvre meant going up even higher on that cock, and therefore letting it pop right out.

It felt more than a little sad and honestly, soul-crushing to do so, but he just barely managed to tell his omega to fuck off long enough to raise his hips fully, and feel his just recently claimed pussy open up to nothing but air, the tip of his cock once again just brushing against his hole.

From there, it was pretty easy to simply fall to the side, roll over onto his back, and slap Derek a couple times until he seemed to stir, taking the hint and rising to tower hands and knees over a Stiles that nudged himself back into the centre of the small bed.

And then the alpha and omega really took over.

Because how could an alpha werewolf look down at a fertile omega in heat, one who they’d just taken the virginity of, still could feel his slick cooling on his cock twitching at the memory of being inside of that tight cunt, and not want to absolutely tear him apart?

Derek locked eyes with Stiles. A strong stare, obviously more than just a little coincidental meeting of the eyes. There was real thought behind those eyes, glinting in the dying colours of sunset so it seemed they shimmered gold, just for a moment. But that had to be an illusion.

Or not.

But Stiles just stared right back into those odd, fascinating eyes, and nodded.

And that’s all the non-verbal permission either of them needed, before Derek fully sheathed his cock inside of Stiles’ open, waiting cunt once more.

The both moaned, or groaned, something like that. A breathless  _ “F-fuck,”  _ from Stiles, a “Fuck, you’re  _ tight,” _ murmured from the man now pinning him from above.

And yep, that really was it. It would be easy to sum it up as: they then fucked for over an hour, knotted, and then went right to sleep, but really, it was a little more interesting than that.

After all, it was Stiles’ first time, and Derek’s first time with him, at least. Later, he’d learn that it was Derek’s first time with a male, with an omega at all, which Stiles had always felt oddly proud of, even though none of that was really his doing.

But perhaps he could tell some of it even then, with the way Derek would grunt and curse nearly just as loud as Stiles would moan and keen. Okay, maybe not actually nearly as loud, because Stiles seemed hell-bent on making all the other hotel residents absolutely hate them that lone night, but it was obvious the alpha was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Stiles took more than a little satisfaction in knowing all of that, even though most of his “work” was simply lying on his back, allowing that cock to pound mercilessly in and out of his cunt which supplied more than enough of its own slick automatically. But hey, he did do some stuff, even if it was just mostly in his delirious, nonsensical moans; wrapping his thick thighs around Derek’s back and forcing him deeper on every thrust inside; trying to squeeze the muscles of his cunt tight, tight on that unbelievable cock, as though trying to ensure that it could never, ever leave him.

Of course, it does. Over and over and over again, and thank God that it does. Because every thrust in or out means it hits a million of highly-sensitive nerve endings, made only infinitely more sensitive from his amazing, sensual heat.

Wow, he’d never thought he would enjoy a heat, let alone be fucking  _ thankful  _ for it. But there he was, lying back in some little hotel room miles from his own home, getting his brains fucked out by a guy so many leagues out of his own that he never would have even imagined it, it would’ve been so far removed from reality.

Just goes to show how strange life is, huh?

Eventually, all that wondrous thrusting that had him seeing stars and far-flung planets and all other anomalous objects just got to be far too much, the pressure and heat building in his stomach until his very toes curled with what he knew was inevitably cumming.

_ “C-cumming, D-Derek!”  _ Stiles would then gasp, right before he did so, thrashing in a full-body orgasm that seemed to encompass him like an ocean of pure, electric pleasure. A full sheet of muscle still grinding against him, thrusting in and out of him with only a slight slow to dull the torture of over-stimulation, as though milking his little twirling cock for what little seed it had to spend.

His refractory period was practically non-existent, though. Body transformed into a whorish version of itself, even for an always more-or-less receptive cum dump that an omega’s already was, stirred on by Derek’s rut that only grew more intense with every drop of Stiles’ sweet smelling slick in an endless feedback loop, their bodies were practically made for nothing more than fucking the other’s.

Stiles could’ve cum a hundred times, maybe he even did. It all blurred together after a point, the heat washing his brain like a wave crashing on a sunlit beach, just that vague feeling of warmth and pleasure rolling over him, over and over and over again, until his eyes rolled back in his skull and he just fucking took it.

Nothing more than a sheath for Derek’s cock, a soft body to contrast to the sharp edges of the alpha’s, moaning for every grunt he made, egging the rutting werewolf on with each screaming cry of climax, so he would fuck impossibly harder and only bring on more of them.

It was absolutely wonderful, however long it was. Perhaps it was a dozen minutes, maybe a dozen more. It very well could have been over an hour, perhaps even multiple hours, who the fuck knows. But despite how long and wearing it could have been, Stiles remembers never feeling any sort of discomfort, let alone pain, during that entire first mating session.

It was just absolute ecstasy. So new to sex, to each other’s bodies that seemed to fit like a literal glove, to the idea of pregnancy and mating and all that glorious stuff. It never became boring, no, surely not, and Stiles imagines that after nearly two decades of being some level of mind-blowing, it never will be.

But it was like pure electricity, in the way that only utter first times can be. Slightly awkward, perhaps, in the way they were still figuring the other out, what to do and where and where the boundaries lie with the things they could say, not quite having worked out all the kinks yet, if you will, but that just made it all the more fun.

There wasn’t much talking, probably because Stiles was too busy having orgasm after screaming orgasm, and Derek too caught up in the red-fury of perhaps the most intense rut of his entire life. But it hardly really mattered.

Although Stiles probably would’ve loved a good session of slut-shaming degradation then as much as he would now, he certainly didn’t need it, as that cock drilled him in all the right places, pressing against his g-spot, his internal cock, making him squirt and squirt in a never-ending flood of girlish cum.

After so many mind-melting minutes of the best sex of his fucking existence, Stiles knew in the back of his fever-rattled brain that at some point, sooner or later—but hopefully later—this would have to end. He could only be fucked for so long before eventually, theoretically, at least, his pussy would run dry of its lubricating slick, leaving him dry and legs sore from chafing.

Or, more realistically, Derek would cum.

It seemed to him that a werewolf alpha had an amount of stamina any human male would be deathly envious of, almost had Stiles imagining that maybe  _ this  _ was the reason those asses were chasing him all the way from Timbuktu and back, until he wrote that off as utterly ridiculous.

Yes, of course Derek had to cum eventually. It was rather impressive, how long he could hold on fucking into such a tight cunt, nearly every minute bursting like a dam in a climax that had it squeezing even tighter on his still-thrusting cock. Perhaps that was one of the positives to Derek having had sexual experience before Stiles. Not only did he know what sex was, in general, but he really knew how to  _ use  _ it.

Surely, he’d never had one as tight or as vocal as Stiles—you’d be hard-pressed to ever find a human, man or woman, who could compare to the sheer sexuality of an omega in heat—so perhaps it was the rut that aided him in that way, just as the heat aided Stiles’ pleasure to bolster his reproductive potential. After all, the longer a fuck went on, the higher chance one of those little swimmers found its way to his vulnerable eggs. Made sense enough to Stiles, at least, and he certainly wasn’t fucking complaining.

But he would have to cum eventually, to seed his load into Stiles in the first place. And so, slowly but surely, thrust by nailing thrust, a bulbous swell grew at the base of his cock. It was hard to see, hard to see anything, but Stiles could barely glance at it over the massive rise and fall of Derek’s chest and back snapping to fuck him harder than ever before.

A red glint in the light growing dimmer by the minute, even shinier than typical skin with all that damned slick and cum. It was obvious what it was, but it still made Stiles catch on his own breath, amazed at the sheer sight of such a mystical thing.

A knot.

A real, actual knot. One that he could feel pummelling against his cunt long since grown red and well-fucked against Derek’s heavy balls, but now, knowing that it was a proper  _ knot  _ slapping against his skin?

Sure enough, Stiles came again, at just the mere thought of it knotting his cunt deep.

Now, Derek did talk. It still seemed hard for him, the first time he’d ever taken Stiles and all, but he managed, somehow. Much better than Stiles could have ever dreamed of, to say the least.

“Fuck,” he’d huffed against Stiles’ ear, practically setting his skin on fire as he did so, “gonna cum into you, Stiles. So fucking deep, right into you-”

“Y-yes,” Stiles whimpered, nodding fervently although it didn’t matter, “cum, i-inside me, cum, please-”

“I will. Right into you, impregnate you for sure, make you heavy and round with all my pups, S-Stiles.”

Such filthy words, said in such a filthy way, hot and barely decipherable against his skin. But Stiles still remembers it to this day, even through that heat fever, the rut, everything. Because even then, as he was getting his brains fucked out through his cunt by the cock pistoning in and out of it, it had seemed important.

Like more than just dirty talk. Like something honest, real. A promise.

Stiles had cum again at those words, but he wasn’t far off from yet another as Derek panted, “Gonna fucking  _ knot  _ you, Stiles. Knot you so fucking full, make you fucking massive with my own pups, over and over and  _ fucking over again.” _

_ “Yes, yes, God, fuck yes!” _ Stiles had screamed then, like a real, true whore. He finds it embarrassing, but also knows he’d wanted to say so much more, at the same time, but was too busy orgasming then as Derek began to desperately try and cram his knot inside his too-tight hole.

He’d wanted to say that he wanted that so badly, all of it. The cum, the knot, of course, but also the pups, the long pregnancy, the resulting offspring they’d have to take care. Over and over again, to be fucked and filled with cum and children until his life was comprised of nothing else, it would’ve sounded like a nightmare to a version of himself just a month prior, but then, in that heat frenzy, it was an absolute fucking dream his omega honestly frothed at the mouth for.

And when that knot finally managed to squeeze its widest point inside of him, impossibly, and Stiles felt another wave of climax rush over him just as incredulously, he felt the happiest he ever had in his entire life.

And when teeth ripped into the flesh of his neck, and marked his pliant body forever as Derek’s—as his alpha’s—he knew he never would be happier again.

Well, perhaps the birth of his children would be a close second, but yeah, it was pretty fucking phenomenal.

After that, his heat gets even foggier, if you can even imagine that. He remembers distantly the feeling of having Derek’s knot tying him together for the first time, how wonderfully full and satisfied he felt. Safe under his cage of muscular limbs, womb tied and secure by a fat knot and a cock reaching so far he could almost imagine it breaching his very cervix—although, surely that would remain a dream, if just for the physical impossibility of such a thing.

But as impossible as this other memory was, he knows it was actually real: the slight becoming swell of his stomach by pure semen.

Because as he lay there, panting just as heavily as Derek did, partially crushing him under his weight which was both annoying and absolutely perfect, he felt every pulse of Derek’s balls, knot, and cock stuck inside of him. And slowly but steadily, the seemingly never-ending blasts collected in his womb enough to begin to show from the outside, just the tiniest, but nevertheless there, outward bump, where there had once been a hollow.

As though he were already in early pregnancy, he mused, both of their fingers playing over the swell of pure liquid ejaculate.

Every strong, rich burst of semen, shot straight into his pussy with absolutely nothing to intercept or dampen it. As much as he might have regretted that later, he thought it the most arousing, wonderful thing ever, then. In fact, it allowed him to keep cumming on Derek’s knot, even as the fucking had pretty much stopped—although he certainly did try to swirl his hips, the little slut that he’d always been.

Just the thought of the impregnation that was surely happening. The conception, the fertilization, the heat and the rut, hormones and pheromones. All of it was so dizzying, made the world fuzzy like a cloud, sweet as a dream, as he lay beneath Derek, just taking all of his cum like he was meant for it—which, really, he was, technically.

Feeling every burst of warm ejaculate hitting his walls, deep inside, knowing every one of them had such a high chance of at some point meeting and conjoining with the numerous eggs inside of his womb.

Because, oh, yes, an omega as young as him, surely would have plenty of eggs already at the ready, oviposited and everything.

Multiple, and what’s more, identical. For an omega’s womb had the special property of splitting a singular egg early on in the stages of pre-heat, resulting in two to three fertile eggs for the taking, and that was just on average.

Really, it could have been four identical eggs in the midst of conceiving inside of him, all thanks to that knot and cock lodged inside by the man who was now, officially, his mate. All of those microscopic spheres of life just waiting for their own individual suitors of sperm, meaning the resulting children of that pregnancy would look very similar, but have the chance of slight differences from their father’s side. Half-identical, really.

The thought of children had always kind of weirded Stiles out before, but at that moment? He was practically drunk at the thought—although, if he were to be with child soon, he suddenly realized he’d have to be careful of such things.

How amazing.

Stiles leaned up to giggle against Derek’s face, who seemed too happy himself to question the source of it, already knowing.

His dull teeth scraped against much tougher flesh, but it was in just the right spot, just the right time as they were still tied by an alpha-omega knot, that the mark would stick. Not only was Stiles forever Derek’s bitch, but he, too, was Stiles’.

Or, maybe more like his dog, considering the opposing roles.

Ah, whatever. Stiles was all done thinking for that night, he thought, falling back into a puddle of warmth and cum and soft blankets. Starting his heat, watching Derek nearly die from those fuckers, making them leave by promising to fuck, and then doing a remarkable job of it, if he may say so himself.

Busy fucking day, to say the very least.

And so, Stiles closed his eyes, smiling as he felt Derek idly running his fingers through his new mate’s messy hair, and said just one more thing:

“Love you, Derek.”

And after a second of bated breath, came the inevitable, but still forever cherished, response:

“I love you too, Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Ty for reading yet again! <3 I think most chapters will involve at least some small excuse for plot besides this one, but idk how much sex vs. action I should put in lol, so if you’d like to leave your input, feel free! Or, if you don’t care, that’s fine too! :D See ya next week!!!


	13. Night of Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
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> A little more sex, then some kinda sad & serious stuff afterward! Just pretty vague mentions of prior parental death, that kind of thing, it’ll be further elaborated in subsequent chapters though, I’m sure, so just a heads up! :)

When Stiles awoke, he was still thoroughly in heat.

The cum between his thighs had long since cooled to a jelly-like, mostly white, semi-liquid mixture. Normally, that would be pretty gross, but the combined haze of waking from a pretty nice, warm slumber, and the still-quite-intense heat, and also the mild fever now really beginning to pick up its pace in soaring his body temperature to near unsafe levels.

But now in the peak of his heat, as he would be for probably the entire day, and night, Stiles didn’t care much about any of that. No, he forgot the slight aching of his bruised skin, the chafe and discomfort of his nether regions where he was still partially glued to the other, and the intense bite mark with only the thinnest of healing upon it—a stark display of the prowess of a werewolf versus a meek, regular human.

Because his mate— _his mate—_ new and strong and everything he ever could have imagined or wanted, was right next to him.

And, of course, still inside of him.

Just the thought of it made him hum with joy, light a fire within him all over again.

And although Derek was still sound asleep—such a normally guarded face made lax and comfortable in only the way sleep could ever make it. Not that Stiles had stared at him while he was asleep… much. Okay, maybe once or twice, but only because he had to get up to go to the bathroom, and wanted to check that Derek was in fact, still there, and still alive!

He just looked so wonderfully at peace, like he almost never did. Maybe in the second after an intimate kiss, he might, and Stiles hoped to be the source of more of that bliss while he was awake, but other than that, there was always some sort of tension behind his eyes. Made since, considering his past and the current scenario they found themselves in, especially since Stiles still didn’t know the entire truth of his history.

He’d have to ask more about that, now that they were mates and all, Stiles mused with pursed lips.

But not now! Because not only was Derek still fast asleep, but Stiles was quickly beginning to feel the flames of his heat ramp up, in his mind, his body, heart and soul, licking between his thighs where that limp cock was still fully sat inside of himself and threatening to consume him fully in a roaring blaze.

He allowed it.

“Do you remember it,” Stiles giggles against his lips, taking Derek’s hands around his hips and pushing them both into the over-sized, faux-leather armchair that was the main seat of Derek’s converted home office, “that first time?”

Derek chuckles, allowing Stiles to straddle his broad legs, settling against him so he can feel his half-hard erection poking against his own, “Not really. With that intense a rut, I might as well have been black-out drunk. But I do remember,” he grins, pecking him once on the lips, “waking up the next morning, to you riding my cock ‘ _cowgirl’_ style.”

Stiles can’t help but let out a little breathy squeak of nostalgic lust at that memory, fluttering his eyes closed as he imagines it. “Sorry about that…” he laughs, even with his eyes still shut, half-assedly moving his hips against Derek’s smashed into the back of the chair.

“Don’t be,” Derek says, leaning forward to whisper into his ear, “it was the best way to wake up, that’s for sure.”

It certainly had seemed so, back then, too.

Stiles had felt more than a little guilty, to be selfishly using the cock of his sleeping alpha to get himself off, but all that left him as he felt the huge thing once again harden inside of him, and that mind-erasing effect of his heat once again smooths over the memory to little more than a slight feeling of forgotten pleasure.

He does remember that his eyes must have been squeezed shut, tight, because he knew Derek was awake only when that cock was fully hard and snapping up into him, just like the night before.

Merciless snaps of his impassioned hips, unforgiving thrusts that reddened the skin of his ass and pussy even more than it already had been. Driven by a rut only to be rivalled with one brought on by pure bloodlust, and Stiles in the loveliest, most intense heat of his life, in a cosy high leagues better than any of the meagre drugs or alcohol he and his high school friends had experimented with just a year or two back, they were like little more than animals.

The cowgirl was great, if memory recalls. Still one of his most favourite positions, although about one-half through a pregnancy it becomes ill-advised, along with many other sex positions, and things in general. But it was amazing to be able to control the depth and speed at which he was fucked for the first time, Derek humouring him half the time, allowing him to swirl his hips and grind down on the cock beginning to swell itself into a knot once more, until he himself became too desperate, and pounded into him from below with enough force to reduce Stiles to a whining, moaning whore merely holding on to stay upright.

He knotted him again. At least, Stiles thinks he probably did. Maybe he didn't, and instead simply came inside of him with the knot still out, that time. Either way, it doesn’t really matter, because Derek would have desperately fucked him with the damned knot in or out, cumming or not. He was simply amazing like that, that immeasurable pool of stamina and will power unleashed during the direst of ruts, allowing him to simply snarl even as he was orgasming himself, sowing his litres of seed deep into Stiles’ already full womb until it all spilled out down their thighs, and then he’d just keep fucking him with that angry red ball of his stubborn knot, scraping it in and out of his tight, wet hole from halfway to all the way inside. Never allowing it to pop fully out, though. Still too aware of the concept of breeding and possessiveness to do something as terrible as that.

Of course, a one-room apartment in an inn was far less than ideal for an omega to be having his most intimate moments of a heat in, Stiles now and then feeling pangs of illogical discomfort or paranoid panic when they took a pause in their endless sex, glossy eyes roaming over the distinct lack of cherished mementos and familiar soft things like covers or pillows. But before that anxiety could bubble too much into anything actually real, his alpha would growl, scenting the changing notes of apparent fear in his omega beside him, and it would all be forgotten as he was turned over doggy-style, and filled with an enormous, breath-taking cock all over again.

They stayed in that particular position for a long while, probably at least an hour, maybe two, hard to tell. All Stiles knows is that he must have cum at least a dozen times, face smothered in the blankets just beginning to smell nice and alpha-scented, drooling into them as Derek knotted him one, two, maybe four fucking times in quick succession, until Stiles’ quivering legs eventually gave out, and then he fucked his uselessly lying form, taking full advantage of the cunt still exposed well enough to the air.

The sheer volume of cum was nigh impossible, especially considering how they never stopped for food, or drink, or anything else, really. Only the occasional pause, or more like a temporary slow in the relentless pace, for them to take a breather, just begin to recover their clawed, bitten skin and cracking voices, and then it was right back at it.

But that’s just what an alpha and omega are supposed to do, isn’t it? Fuck all day and all night for the one or two days a month an omega was blessed with extreme fertility. Use all their reserves of food, energy, rest from the other 29 days of the month before, and give their absolute all in this final effort to impregnate, or become pregnant.

Stiles’ slick was in no short supply, as it somehow continued streaming out of him in little rivulets, a flood of it squirting from his convulsing cunt in his many orgasms, more than lubricating the way for his alpha’s cock to fuck his pussy well and raw, but without any worry of real injury past the popping of his cherry the day before.

But Derek’s plentiful semen, that was the real impressive thing. The way he just never seemed to stop, like he was pulling from some hidden reserve of sexual energy just for this one day, hours on end, sun rise to sunset, fucking him full of seed until it was doubtless he could have caught ten times over.

Because, biologically at least, this really was a last ditch effort from an alpha. Of course, it would be preferable they survive the strenuous act of copulation, but considering that an omega in heat was likely to have at least two or three offspring, in the unfortunate event of their death from such vigour, their life would be worth it. Survive, propagate, repeat. That’s really all that life was, when one laid it all out, in the absolute simplest of terms.

So long as Stiles survived—and Derek would ensure that would happen—to the end of the pregnancy, their jobs were likely done. Enough children to secure the future of the human—and werewolf, secretly—race, and that was that. Done and done.

But, of course, Stiles knew even then, as Derek took a rare break from thrusting his hard cock into his cunt to give his sore knot a break, and instead lick him screaming, tongue tracing a line of spit and cum down his leaking omega cocklet all the way to his slick, creampie-filled pussy, the room filled with the scents and sounds of unmistakable, sinful sex, that this couldn’t be all.

No, just one pregnancy, just one heat, one year of this, wouldn’t be nearly enough.

One litter. However many children there might be, two, three, hell, even ten, he’d do it again.

And it was right then, as he clawed at the sheets into a tight, tight bundle in his hands, twisting his head up to draw in a sharp gasp as he came directly upon Derek’s tongue flexing deep inside of him, he had the idea.

That wonderful, awful idea, that would be his life’s goal from then on.

He didn’t tell Derek about it. How could he? He was still orgasming, and even if he wasn’t, it was hard to form any words other than “Derek,” “harder”, and “cumming!”

So he would just have to tell him his little plan later.

“Mom, I’m done!”

Stiles has about one wide-eyed second to shove himself off Derek’s lap and fling himself back in the loveseat just a little ways away, hiding his lap with a well-placed throw cushion,

“Oh,” he smiles, having had years of practice of flipping like a coin from turned-on to angelically motherly, “you did! What a nice dress, the blue one instead of the white?”

“Mhm,” Mandy hums, rocking back and forth on her heels of a matching bluebird hue, “Clara said it ‘went with my complexion better’, whatever that means.” She rolls her eyes, before promptly falling to her knees, the knee-height skirt of the dress looking like a shining little puddle as she opens one of the permanent colouring books on the dark oak table in the centre of the room to a random page, opening a thin box of coloured pencils with surprising deftness for a five-year-old.

Because, after all, she was half-werewolf. And, apparently, they were markedly better at just about everything compared to a normal human, even as a child.

“Can you continue the story?” she asks, staying inside the lines with expert skill. Show-off.

“Oh, right!” Stiles nods, getting himself settled in as Derek is already knees-deep, figuratively of course, in paperwork. Taxes or something equally as dreadfully boring.

“So,” Stiles begins, “we had our very romantic first kiss in a quaint little inn somewhere near Washington, probably. Under the light of the full moon and everything! And that’s how we started dating! Isn’t that wonderful?”

She wordlessly nods, having heard that line maybe a thousand times from the constant repetitions Stiles has to tell all of the kids when they go through that curious period between three and four, just questioning absolutely everything, including how daddy and mommy met, how the first kiss went, etc etc.

So Stiles mostly skips to the nice bits, and conveniently summarizes everything else into a single sentence, entire days effectively erased to make it a little more PG. Maybe once they’re proper adults, and for some reason want to hear the full, actual story, he might tell the entire thing in a long, mostly uncensored version. But thus far, he’s become rather comfortable with flubbing the truth and completely tossing out all the naughty or potentially traumatizing bits.

Maybe one day. But certainly not today.

So he leaves out all the rough sex, the long, sweaty hours, the final, finishing orgasm that left him so full-bodily exhausted he and Derek both had no choice other than to lay back, and call it a night. More out of pure survival necessity than free will, but he still got to sleep again with a knot firmly plugging up enough cum to probably literally fill his womb full of it, and a sweet-smelling alpha wrapped arms and legs around him in an oddly comforting, protective embrace, so he was alright with it.

And instead, he speaks vaguely of the morning after. Something something nearly starving, blah blah drinking enough water to compete with a man in the middle of a desert. Maybe when they were older, they’d get the insinuations of such desperation after what was just told to be a “kiss” and a “night of romance”.

But once he assured all his basal needs were taken care of—and Derek had scrounged some loose change enough to pay for the extra couple days at the inn—Stiles got straight into it with Derek.

“What are we going to do now?” he’d asked over an empty plate of what had been yet more waffles just a minute ago, meticulously scraping the last bits of syrup-logged crumbs just for good measure. His heat and the fever had both mostly died off like a neat hangover that morning—an hour or so ago—but some lingering remnants still remained. Or maybe it was just the blissful, naughty memories of getting fucked for a day and a half that made the food taste somehow better. Who knows.

“I don’t know. You’ll be pregnant soon, so we should probably settle down somewhere.”

Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle, leaning back in the wood-woven chair. Cute, but definitely not what he would have chosen himself. “Just like that, huh? I’ve only known you for a month, and then a week of travelling, and suddenly now you’re my fated mate, and I’m already knocked up.”

“I know…” Derek sighed, one fist to the forehead as he stared down at nothing, “I’m sorry. We… I shouldn’t have done that. Any of that. Should’ve just left you in your home town, left you alone-”

“Derek,” Stiles said, surprising said man as he quickly rose from his chair, putting a hand to his forearm in a manner he hoped was reassuring, “I’m glad you brought me. And… all the other stuff you’ve done with me, too,” he laughed a little, looking away when he felt his face growing much too hot.

He continued, “Last night, er, yesterday, I guess, was the best day of my life, and I barely remember any of it! I, I still just kind of can’t believe a guy as seemingly unapproachable and unusual—in all the right ways, that is!—is, is with me!”

“Well, thanks, Stiles. I think you’re pretty nice, too.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, well…” Derek put his hands down, looking up at Stiles stood next to him, and even sitting, he barely had to tilt his head, “Still. You’re only eighteen, I’m six years older than you-”

“So? Six years? That’s nothing! Plenty of people get married nearly a decade or even more apart-”

“But you’re only eighteen, Stiles.” Derek said it in a tone that gripped Stiles without anything physical needing to. “You’ve just gotten out of high school, and now, thanks to me, you’re going to be a parent in just a few months. You’re going to have to tell your father, your friends, everyone else. I can’t even imagine how awful that has to be for you.”

Stiles pursed his lips, fingers beginning to curl on Derek’s always solid shoulder. “You don’t have to imagine how bad it is for me, Derek. I’m me, I can handle it. I know it might be easy to write me off as just some dumb small town idiot fresh out of senior year just wanting to breeze his life away without even worrying about college or his future in general, but, trust me, I’m not. I’m sure of that… because of you.”

“Really?” Derek seemed genuinely surprised, enough to even express it.

Stiles nodded. “I know it’s only been a little over a week I’ve been alone with you, but with that pack following us up till now, and with losing my virginity and mating with you yesterday… I don’t know, I just, I actually feel… _different,_ somehow-

“I know, I know!” Stiles interrupting his own self, stopping Derek’s parted lips with a raised hand before he could even start actually refuting him, “I sound just like the starry-eyed idiot I said I wasn’t.

“But really,” he widened his stance slightly on the hardwood floor, stooping the few centimetres it took to be exactly eye level with Derek’s ever-intense blue gaze, “I can handle it, trust me.”

Derek nodded, just once.

Stiles smiled at him, leaning forward to plant a warm kiss to his sharp little cute rim of a cheek bone, and waved his fingers, saying, “Alright! I’ll call my dad and… break the news, I guess. Better early than later, even if we are heading back there, right?”

Derek huffed the affirmative, but caught Stiles’ fanning wrist just before it could draw out of his reach.

Stiles tilted his head, confused and curious. But just a second later, wordlessly, he got the reason for the hesitation.

Moving swiftly through the air from Derek’s small backpack usually kept in the back of his car—now stowed beneath the dining table—something was placed upon it.

Small, white rectangular. A little box, with a multi-coloured label on it, explaining its purpose quite clearly.

Stiles had seen something like it before, of course. In health class years ago, as well as plenty of times in pharmacies, amongst the rest of the semi-embarrassing or odd little prescriptions.

“Morning after pills?” Stiles said, quiet and breathless, nearly inaudible.

Derek was quiet for a moment, but finally spoke, “If you want them. It’s up to you.”

Stiles blinked. Squinted. Looked up at Derek. “ ‘Up to me’? Why would it be up to me?”

“Because you’re the one who’s going to be pregnant for nine months, and you actually have people whose opinions you might care about, unlike me. It would be easier to tell your father, at least. I mean, telling him you’re mated would probably be really difficult either way, but I figure it might be a little less of a death blow.”

Stiles breathed in. Held it and allowed it to attempt to clear his head. Then he exhaled, letting the box stay in his blurry peripheral vision, and look Derek right in the eyes. “But what do you want?”

“Like I said, it’s not-”

“But you’re the father of them. You’re the alpha.”

“And you’re the mother, the omega. I don’t want to sway your opinion on something that could change your life forever, Stiles-”

Stiles shifted his wrist still being held awkwardly in Derek’s loose hold instead to holding his hand properly, the immense heat a comforting warmth, even as his other hand moved to plant itself firmly on his hip in a stance of unyielding defiance. “Don’t you want them?”

“I don’t… know.”

“Well, I know,” Stiles said, as confidently as a foolhardy, newly mated omega could, “I want them. I want it. I don’t care if it’s probably… an unwise choice, or if it means my life will definitely be much more difficult and complex and unpleasant with twins or triplets running around in just a few years, and we’ll have to find a place to live, ideally not too far from my dad, but also not _too_ close either-”

“I don’t care,” Stiles repeated, swinging a leg left mostly bare other than a freshly washed pair of panties, settling down into Derek’s seat in a way not at all unlike he’d done just a few minutes ago in the present, “I want them. Don’t you?”

Derek sighed, but nodded against the omega smiling in his lap, foreheads meeting as they gazed into the other’s eyes. “I do.”

Stiles’ smile only grew. “I knew you did.”

The omega then rolled his eyes, twisting back to grab the white box and shake it a little. “Ugh, why would you even waste your money buying this, Der? You really think I would’ve ever used this, in a million years?”

“Oh, I just kept it on hand, along with condoms and stuff like that. Just in case.”

“Oh… that does make sense,” Stiles balked, then shrugged, tossing the box somewhere on the dining table as he met their lips in one last sweet, deep kiss. “Well, my silly alpha, I definitely appreciate all your attempts at my comfort, but now, I must go make myself deeply, deeply uncomfortable.”

Derek chuckled a little, allowing Stiles to rise out of his lap and their fingers to gradually thread through the other’s, until finally they had to separate entirely. “You sure you don’t want to just tell him when we get back to California? Could only be a couple days, now that we don’t have to worry-”

“Nope!” Stiles shook his head, and even still worn out from that marathon sex, Derek had to appreciate the nice view of his perky little ass half-covered in white lace—nice choice—even as it was leaving.

“He’d definitely kill me if I wait even one more second,” Stiles winked, and then slid into the bathroom for some privacy, as he went on to have the worst phone call of his life.

~~~

Really, it wasn’t the worst phone call.

Probably top five, at least, but no, it wasn’t _that_ bad, all in all.

There were some awkward ramblings, and then dread-filled pauses, and then some words which might have gotten a little… heated, from his father, but it didn’t end in tears or balled fists.

Instead, he shut the bathroom door behind him calmly a half hour after he had entered, tossed the decades old flip phone onto the soft covers, and then flopped right down upon them.

“Not that bad, I assume?” Derek had asked, glancing up from scrolling on his proper smartphone—although at least seven generations behind, surely—laying flat on his own bed, just a night stand away from the one where he’d impregnated Stiles just twelve or so hours ago.

“Could have been worse,” Stiles mumbled, hiding his face from the sun with his lightly freckled arm. “Much, much worse.”

“You’re telling me…” Derek huffed. “If I had to tell _my_ parents I was suddenly mated and expecting, I don’t know what the hell they would have done…”

“You don’t have to tell them anymore?” Stiles asked into his arm.

Only in the resulting silence did he realize the possible, horrid weight to his own question.

“Err, I mean, I didn’t-you don’t-”

Derek sat up, all the way to the edge of the small bed. Stiles was sure he was going to leave, continue that quick movement up and off, all the way out of the inn they’d been holed up in for days now. Maybe he’d continue on for a short walk, or, maybe, he’d never return.

Instead, Derek remained firmly sat on the edge of the mattress which was just a bit too soft for his liking, and shook his head, seemingly to his own self.

“They’re both dead. Have been for over a year now. I don’t know why I’m still bothered with it, to be honest. Never was really that close with them, in the first place.”

Stiles turned over, before promptly sitting himself up on his own mattress, mirroring Derek’s crestfallen expression and then some. “Because… they’re your parents, Derek. Of course you’re going to miss them, no matter how long it’s been, no matter how things were.”

Derek just shook his head again, and Stiles hated the helplessness he felt in actually seeing him… sad.

So he tried his best to lighten the mood, even a little bit… with his own depressing anecdote. Better than silence, he’d thought, pursing his lips. “My… mom died giving birth to me. I never even knew her, could never even have actually _met_ her, but it still… I don’t know.” Now it was his turn to sigh, kicking his feet against the bed frame. “Maybe it’s actually nothing like the loss you felt, because I didn’t actually really _lose_ her, did I? I wasn’t even born, for fuck’s sake…”

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, not at all unlike his that had been on Derek’s less than an hour ago. But where Derek’s was solid muscle, all woven like the wood of the chair, solid and finely built, Stiles was mostly skin and bone, soft with flesh and fat. Where Stiles’ hand could have barely fit over the top of Derek’s deltoid, Derek’s slid all the way from his collar bone with his thumb, down to his flat excuse for a bicep.

It felt so stupid, especially in a moment as sullen as that, but the comfort he felt from just a single hand over his arm…

As he looked into Derek’s eyes, he was sure of it.

They were soul mates. If such bullshit were even vaguely possible, that is.

“No, my loss isn’t any more real than yours, Stiles. Of course, it’s no competition, but, to never even know your own mother… It’s heartbreaking, just to think about.”

“I get by,” Stiles half smiled.

Derek’s lips began to twitch, perhaps the beginning of a mirrored action, but Stiles couldn’t see it well enough to know the outcome, because then he was swallowed up in a full-body embrace.

The words were whispered against his neck, tight and close and only for him.

“You sure do, _my darling omega.”_

Perhaps even more ridiculous than the soothing effect of the shoulder-hand thing, or the now two-armed hug he was just beginning to recover from to slide his own stupid arms around Derek’s waist, was the fluttering of his heart at those words.

“Darling” and “omega” in one sentence? Said _together?_

As Derek leaned forward to pull him into another breathless, enchanted kiss that noon day, Stiles might have died and gone to heaven.

But first, a bit of hell.

It wasn’t a bullet, nor a pound at the door, nor yelling or screaming. Nothing loud or obtrusive or even really noticeable to Stiles.

But nonetheless, it certainly was to Derek, whose smile suddenly fell as Stiles’ eyes were just beginning to blink open from the intimacy, his own brow furrowing as he muttered, “W-what’s wrong?”

Derek was staring at the door, had backed away in breaking the kiss, but backed even further, seemingly to sniff. He tried to look back to Stiles, but it was almost like his own body refused to do so for more than half a second, like a paranoid dog to some phantom sound at the door.

Derek whispered that it was nothing, giving him a peck to the forehead and brush to the forearms, but it did little to settle Stiles’ now peaked nerves, watching restlessly as his alpha mate rose from the tiny bed still vaguely smelling of their mating, and bravely marched across the floor, all the way to the front door of their room.

Wide eyes watched as he leaned down all the way, to pick up something up. Stiles couldn’t see much of it for his inferior human vision, other than that it was unusually black and shiny, like a business card, perhaps. It must have been slid under the door, and either the sound or sight of it moving across the ground, or the footsteps that must have delivered it, had set Derek off.

Either way, Derek took a second, sighed deeply, and then quickly made his way right back to Stiles, still staring dumbly on the bed.

As Derek’s calloused fingers brought it into view, perfectly framing the ominous, shining note, Stiles’ eyes scanned the entire thing so fast he couldn’t even properly read it, a sudden panic overcoming him as he noted before anything else that it wasn’t signed, didn’t have much information, and certainly wasn’t a fucking business card.

But, really, it need not say much. Not who or where it was from, details, or anything superfluous like that.

Because it was perfectly obvious, in the five simple, plainly-fonted words that were upon it, white against the black:

_We’re not done quite yet._

“Well…” Stiles finally said, after a long, long silence.

“Fuck,” Derek finished for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> What exactly happened to Derek with the pack one fateful year ago? Where will the two go now? What exactly does that note imply? How long will this fic actually be? 
> 
> I’m not really sure, either, but I’ll be sure to figure it out with you guys every week until we do! :D See ya next time ;)


	14. Back Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Some story stuff, some happy stuff, and then plenty of gratuitous smut! My favourite!

“I just can’t fucking believe this!” Derek had said, slamming his hands on the leather-bound steering wheel.

It was snowing, had been all day, ever since they left—the unmistakable sign of winter finally closing in even on the usually more temperate western coast—it was pretty impressive, really, considering that must have been, oh, maybe twelve, fourteen hours ago…

Now, the sun was setting, the furry onset of snow relentless and a smothering white upon every surface of the car, transparent or not.

Stiles just sighed.

Because still, all those hours later, his mate remained as heated as ever about that little note. Stiles had tried all manners to settle the rampaging alpha: reasoning about how it was just an empty threat, just a stupid, pretentious little note; how it wouldn’t make any sense at all for them to continue coming after them, since it seemed their drive was about Derek’s apparent secret want to become the head of their pack, which would obviously be rendered null now that Stiles was mated and pregnant with a potential pack of their own.

Oh… just the thought of it, that right then, sitting in the passenger seat with one hand soothingly rubbing circles into the shoulder of his pent-up mate, his body was already hard at work at conceiving, creating life.

He’d never really thought about pregnancy much before: the conception, the development, hell, children in general were a cute distraction more than anything actually poignant.

But as much as he hated to even think about it, he knew that it was true, now, that it was no longer the simple instincts of his omega inside that grew giddy at the thought of a family all his own.

No, now it was something that consumed almost every single one of his thoughts, so long as it wasn’t about that stupid pack, or how in the hell they’d find a place to live in the small expensive as fuck small town back home with his father there and everything.

Oh, no, he’d much rather think of sweeter, nicer things, really. Like just how amazing it was, that his own cells could almost miraculously convert some liquid and a cell the size of a grain of sand into what could very well become a living, breathing, thinking being, just like him.

In fact, he bet he could do better than that. For he was not just a beta, like his dear mom and pop, but a young, very fertile omega in his prime.

He really shouldn’t be making the amount of identical children he has on his very first pregnancy into some sort of competition, probably. But hell if he won’t, anyway. Tell Scott and all the rest of them all about it, brag just like they’d brag about college and their classes and all the hot girls, but with adorably annoying babies, instead.

God, what had Derek done to him?

He laid back in the seat, adjusted it to lean a little further so he could really get into prime nap position. The full-day fuck from yesterday still had him rather spent—and as was typical of most post-heat omegas regardless of what exactly occurred the couple nights of their delirium, with the sex drive equivalent to perhaps a nun. Except a nun might have considerably more, when he really thought about it.

To take his mind off of those slightly unpleasant thoughts, he turned his face to Derek, too lazy to follow with the rest of his body, and tiredly murmured, “How much longer till we’re back home?”

Derek finally seemed to calm at the sleepy town of his omega, body visibly slumping down with a long breath out. “Only a couple more hours, I think. It’s snowing pretty hard, though.”

“Mmm,” Stiles hummed, turning back to the window beside him and watching the near-blizzard lit by the rare, occasional highway light. It more than a little reminded him of that first night, when he met Derek, except frozen instead of a thundering downpour. It might not have been raining cats and dogs that night, but it certainly did bring to him an injured little werewolf. “Looks nice, though…”

“Yeah?” Derek replied succinctly.

“Against the window… billowing all around us… I like snow…”

“Sucks to drive through, though.”

“True… very… true…”

Safe to say, Stiles doesn’t remember anything else about that night.

Which is maybe a little more than a shame, because that means that he never actually got to see the view as the cities and suburbia of modern California began to sprout up here and there. Of course, they’d been actively avoiding anything bigger than a modest town on their aimless venture away from their hunters, but now—either careless or overly cautious in their efforts to return back to home ground where there would be friendly faces for once, and also a father not only with decades of police experience under his belt, but actual money—the hills and valleys of the coastal state revealed swaths of nightlife all beginning to be blanketed in white.

At least, that’s probably what it would have looked like. Because, again, he was too busy dozing off. Damn himself.

Perhaps more of a miss than the sightseeing, however, was the fact that he missed out on that major movie moment of returning to one’s home town: watching the familiar lights, warm and beckoning, appear slowly on the horizon, as though guiding one back right where they belonged. Missed the swell that no doubt would have grown in his heart, until it all spilled out into tears unfit of a journey of only about a week and a half.

But hey, he was pregnant, now. He could use that as an excuse for a lot of things.

Instead, Stiles awoke when there was a tap on his shoulder, a voice of whispers close to his head. He tried to ignore it, murmuring something about how he was still recovering from his fever or some shit, snuggling back into the inner side of the seat.

And then he realized that he was trying to go toward the  _ centre  _ of the car to get away from the touch—which was clearly on his  _ right  _ shoulder, which meant  _ outside. _

His eyes snapped awake, but he was still half drowsy. So he thought it really didn’t make any sense at all, why he saw Derek’s handsome face outside of the open door, staring in at him-

Wait. Outside?

This cold, winter air, bringing back odd memories in his mind? The snow finally over? Just barely covering the sidewalk, that sidewalk under those same street lamps he’s known all his life before-

Fuck being sleepy, he literally jumped out of the car and right into Derek’s arms.

Now, Stiles should have known better than to jump to conclusions. If there’s anything he’d learned in his hap-dash adventure with Derek on the road, slowly losing all of their money to less-than-outstanding hotels and cheap food trucks and other services, it’s that the world was a much more complicated place than he thought. Or, perhaps, than he’d like to imagine.

And so, he really should have never daydreamed about this exact moment—returning back home, ideally with no werewolves stalking them, but obviously that was just  _ too  _ ambitious. He never should have thought of the exact details, the smiles and the laughter as they stood before Stiles’ childhood home, perhaps lightly snowing, perhaps during a pink-lit sunset. Miraculously ready to be received with open arms by his dad, invited inside as a place to stay for… some reason.

But in reality, it was pitch black, three in the morning on a Tuesday, and freezing cold. If his dad wasn’t working, he’d probably be desperately trying for some actual sleep, before he got called in for yet another inexperienced driver whose car had slipped on the fresh ice not always native to California.

Yeah, he really didn’t think it through, now that he thinks about it in the present.

But in the moment, Stiles hadn’t known the folly of any of his previous actions.

All he knew was the feeling of his heart dropping in his chest as he saw what replaced that ideal vision of his house.

“Another hotel?” Stiles asked quietly, even as he was still being carried bridal style.

“I know… it’s not ideal, for sure, but unless you know somewhere better, I think it’s the best we can do, at least tonight.”

Stiles suddenly felt so stupid, so childish, to have dreamt all that up, only for harsh reality to slap him right in the face. He looked back up, away from the boring slate gray of the hotel to Derek’s always-reliable image, and didn’t really feel mad at him, per se. Derek always just did the best for him, and especially now that they were mates, only wanted the pure best, as well.

He just wished things could be different, easier. That he could just go straight to his father, return to his own room, sleep in his own bed. It had only been a week and a half, yet it felt like forever. Just to be able to rest his head in a familiar, safe spot, surrounded by people he actually knew, felt like a dream in itself.

But no. It was obvious that couldn’t happen, at least not yet. He should be happy they were able to come back at all, really. A couple weeks was nothing, compared to the journeys some had to make, take the man helping him down to his own two feet right now, for instance. He’d spent entire years being chased all the way from New York to suburban California, and for absolutely nothing but his tormentor’s sick pleasure.

Yes, he should be thankful. Because while those days on the road hadn’t been the vacation he might’ve liked, it also hadn’t been entirely perilous.

Well, if you forget the time that they really almost did die, but other than that, not that bad, honestly!

So, for now, he followed Derek side by side, holding hands, trying his best to act normally even as his head constantly flips between berating his own naivety and just staying focused on the present.

Derek coughed up the last of their cash to the stone-faced receptionist, and in a pattern now so familiar his brain pretty much blocked it out for him, they climbed the stairs and traversed the halls until they reached their own, empty room, before promptly throwing their bags down and stripping the sheets.

Stiles was thoroughly exhausted, even despite his nap, so he could only imagine how Derek felt, as he made the bed—yes,  _ the  _ bed, because finally, there would only be one queen-sized one, instead of the two double beds just uncomfortably too close so he could never even think about doing anything to take the edge of being constantly around an alpha off. But then again, it seemed Derek always slept after he did, and woke well before him with groceries and laundry in tow, so maybe he really didn’t need that much sleep, anyways…

But Derek definitely did sleep, Stiles only believed it because he saw it with his own eyes during his heat, before promptly waking him up by beginning to fuck himself on his cock again, of course.

So, either way, he thought that when the bed was all ready with their own matching pillows and everything, that would be it. He jumped on the bed and made himself comfortable as such, already feeling the tranquil pull of sleep the second his head hit the pillow—a talent he’d always had.

But then, Derek began to talk.

“I’m really sorry Stiles,” he said, as he himself slid into bed beside him, although remaining sitting up, “I know you want to just go back to your own actual house, reunite with your dad, but I’m kind of stopping you, aren’t I?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, managing to prop himself up onto his side and raise his head with his fist, elbow digging into the soft cushion of the pillow, in an effort to not doze off rudely mid-conversation.

“Well, your dad might not have completely lost his shit hearing you were mated and pregnant now, which, kudos to him and everything, but I have a feeling that I won’t be entirely… accepted, around here.”

Stiles frowned. “Why? Of course you will! You’re a nice guy, and, plus, you’re my mate, and everyone likes me! … Mostly.”

Derek’s canines flashed in the moonlight as he smiled, but Stiles could tell there was still some hurt there. “I’m a complete stranger who randomly shows up out of nowhere, only to get an omega fresh out of high school pregnant… I don’t know about you, but if I heard about a guy like that, and I was like your elementary school teacher who’d known you your whole life or something, I’d feel like that guy is up to no good, if not a complete asshole.”

“Well, you’re not!” Stiles huffed, reaching out with his other hand to just touch Derek anywhere he could, which happened to be on the hip, right beneath his plain tank he usually wore to bed. “I mean, sure, you’re right that I have lived here my entire life, and everyone knows everyone else in this town of a few hundred like the backs of their hands, but they’re not xenophobic! Er, not entirely, anyway.”

Derek looked to Stiles’ hand, snickering a little. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re great. God, I’m gonna have to find a place to work for more than just a few days, you know how long it’s been since the last time I could do that?”

Stiles smiled in the darkness, dragging his hand to Derek’s arm to try to beckon him to his side, to sleep. “See? Isn’t that nice? I’m sure once everyone sees how sweet and kind and wonderful you really are, they’ll warm right up to you. Might even replace me as everyone’s neighbour of the year.”

Derek laughed. “They have that?”

“No, not officially, at least. This place isn’t  _ that _ weird. But it’s pretty obvious, I think anyway, that I’d win,” Stiles grinned, as he finally managed to pull Derek into a warm, comforting, sleepy embrace.

And just the same as during his heat, Stiles wouldn’t have believed it without seeing it with his own eyes, as Derek fell asleep before him. His face the same as when they’d conceived, relaxed and careless, in a world of forgetful nothing, ignorant and uneventful and peaceful.

Stiles smiled again, pressing his forehead to Derek’s and closed his eyes, entangled head to toe and ready to join him in that cosy slumber.

~~~

The small layer of snow had mostly melted, leaving peeks of dead grass amongst the similarly melting puddles of snow and ice. It left Stiles feeling oddly uneasy, as he sat on that park bench alone, restlessly bouncing his leg. Something about the state of being between a proper, white winter and the rotting leaf days of autumn, the mixture of the two bitter evils amplifying the other in the chilled air.

But finally, after waiting what must have been ten minutes but felt like hours, he got some small reprieve.

He heard him only a few steps away, from behind, the sound of crunching leaves and packed snow alerting him to his father’s presence. He turned immediately, and then his body naturally rose for himself.

His father was beginning to say something, probably important, but Stiles didn’t care, and immediately swathed him in his cloying arms, a silly little hug befitting the odd little family unit that they were.

His dad sighed, giving up what he was trying to say as he reciprocated the greeting, squeezing the practical life out of his son and patting him on the back in that reassuring way that fathers sometimes do.

Now, this was what Stiles had wanted, the first night of being here. And it might have been a disappointing start and an anxious morning of finding just the right time when his father would be free of paperwork, but it had all been worth it, for this feeling.

Being pulled into a loving embrace by his dad, one filled with such great joy yet also the remnants of sorry, memories of beginning to miss this place and, most of all, him, that it brought tears to Stiles eyes, even though he knew that he was here now, right in his arms.

He felt silly as he pulled back, wiping them from his eyes as he looked away from his dad, embarrassed. He was acting like he’d been gone for months, maybe even years, but it had been nothing like that. Perhaps it was because it was the first time he’d ever travelled away from home, ever, really. Or perhaps Stiles really was just a baby. But his father said something of it being alright, that he’d missed the hell out of him too, as he mirrored the motion, although to a less dramatic extent.

After a refreshing breath or two, they then mutually agreed with a nod and some hand motions to take a seat on that same park bench, even if it was the kind of metal that pretty much soaked up all the cold it could get—funny how that was the material most outdoor benches were made of—and got to talking.

A shitty flip phone that charged by the minute meant the few conversations Stiles risked having were usually short and succinct, like the one where he’d dropped the bomb about his pregnancy—although he, too, wanted to talk about that as little as possible, at the time.

But now, they dig deep. Talking and asking all sorts of questions about where the other’s been, what they’ve been up to, all the crazy people they’ve both seen, now. Laughter and reminiscing, light airy small talk, for the most part. Funny little anecdotes about quirky hotel employees to the latest DUI, all the way until that well had run dry, after an hour or so.

And then it was on to the real, uncomfortable stuff.

Oh boy.

“So…” his dad said.

“So…” Stiles went.

Utter silence. Not even the songs of birds or the rustling of leaves to cover it up, anymore. Just the dead hum of a barren winter, the slight noise of unfriendly gusts of wind blowing over the hills before them.

“Do you want to see your room again, Stiles?”

Stiles was quite surprised that that would be the first question, out of all of them. “Oh, I… I don’t know, I took everything out of there that I, uh, really needed, so…”

His father merely nodded, humming affirmatively. “You know, when you left, I had a feeling that you’d come back.”

“You really thought that highly of me? I’m surprised.”

He chuckled. “Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but I don’t know, I let you leave because I just had this odd… knowing in my stomach, that you’d be fine, out there. I mean, you were, for the most part, right?”

Stiles nodded, biting his lip as he tried to smile.

But lying face-to-face with the sheriff of the town was much harder than just mentioning something over the phone.

So Stiles sighed to his brow-raising father, and told him of how their three aggressors had caught up to them during the beginning of his heat, and how just when it seemed that they had Derek pinned and perhaps finally about to slay him for good, that was when he’d decided to be part of Derek’s pack.

His father’s wrinkled expression made it clear he wasn’t quite sure what a pack meant, nor if he liked the insinuations of such an important decision being made under such dire circumstances, so Stiles explained most of that, too.

Well, he tried. He didn’t really get it fully, either, but from the conversations Derek had had with him—some of them foggy in his mind and probably inaccurate because Derek had been breeding him, after all—he gathered that werewolves almost always had some tight-knit group of their family and closest friends, almost always werewolves, themselves.

But they didn’t  _ need  _ to all be werewolves, really. It would probably be easier if they were, which, now that he thinks about it, might be why their adversaries apparently continue to doubt them even now that Stiles is pregnant—if not visibly, then in the sweetening of his scent that’s been developing only further the past few days, something alphas, omegas, and especially any werewolf, could smell.

Some of that he doesn’t tell his father, nor his daughter, because some things are just better left in the depraved fortress that is his own mind.

But, ultimately, he tells both of them in either time frame, a werewolf pack is meant for one thing, above all else. Not too dissimilar to a typical alpha-omega couple, really, but with even more security in order to hide their supernatural secret from a society that might want to strike them down, out of fear or jealousy or otherwise.

That one thing? Children. And lots of them.

His father’s face visibly paled, even in the near-freezing temperature outside.

“And I do actually remember when you had ‘the talk’ with me,” Stiles said, his own father seeming to wince at the memory, “and all about how many children alphas and omegas can have at a time. So werewolves, even just one and a normal human, can apparently have even more! Anywhere from two to four, on average,” Stile smiled, remembering what Derek had told him with a mixture of delight and terror for his own well-being and potential future with that many pups, and his father’s rather unamused face.

“So…” his father sighed, as he had many times by then, “you’re going to have… quadruplets, maybe?”

“Maybe. I think it’s more likely for it to be just twins or triplets, though.”

“Dear lord…” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked down to his own boots, sighing again.

“Hey! That’d be like if I got with a regular old alpha, so don’t be so down about it!” Stiles tried.

“Ugh, I know,” his father mumbled, rubbing his face. “An alpha would be bad enough, but it just has to be a damn  _ werewolf? _ God, this must be a nightmare…”

“Well, what’s the problem with it, though? I can do it, I know I can! I’ve taken care of all sorts of kids, with all sorts of traits and personalities and problems, from newborns all the way to young teens! I’ve got it, Dad!” Stiles rambled, half-excited by his own speech, half-knowing it was just a bunch of wishful garbage, said by an omega who was likely  _ way  _ in over his own damn head.

But his father surprised him. By nodding. Leaning back. Nodding some more.

“Yeah, I know you do, Stiles. I just… that’s so many young, energetic kids, all over again, Jesus… I remember, just the one of you was about enough to make me wanna pull my hair out, sometimes…”

“Dad!” Stiles chided him.

“No, no, you’re right, though. Like I said, like I’ve come to terms with—I really do hope I have, anyway—I trust you, going with Derek, wherever he goes. And I might not be a high-and-mighty alpha or an omega to know scents or any of that garbage, but I know love when I see it.”

“Really?” Stiles whimpered, in utter amazement as his father’s surprisingly sucrose words.

“I mean, last time I’ve seen you with Derek was before you left, but I figure you’d only look even more embarrassing now that you’re actually together-”

_ “Dad!” _

~~~

“So, yeah, talk with Dad went surprisingly well,” Stiles was saying, pouring some milk on his cereal—the  _ right  _ way—for a lunch snack, much better than breakfast, in his opinion.

“Really? Maybe I should be more thankful to be with someone with actually level-headed relatives… then again, maybe him not freaking out more is a sign, actually…”

Stiles giggled, sitting on the couch besides his nice, big, wonderful-smelling mate, leaning into him as some show played on the television. This room wasn’t nearly as welcoming as the last one where they’d mated, but it certainly wasn’t the worst, by far. The little couch and TV were very appreciated additions, at least. Plus, Derek’s bulky body made a surprisingly good pillow  _ and  _ arm rest.

“Well,” Stiles sighed happily after a few quiet minutes and a third of the bowl, “we’re home.”

“Mhm. I called a few places for interviews while you were gone, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Stiles smiled, patting his leg as some kind of reward. “I’m sure no matter what happens, you’ll always get to the top of the chain, making big bucks in no time, Der.”

Derek raised a brow, unbelieving. “What makes you think that? I don’t have any sort of education besides a high school diploma, and no records of employment younger than a year. If anything, I’m the least suitable candidate a place better than a grocery store could hire.”

“Hey, don’t knock on grocery stores! Managers make decent money, you know,” Stiles winked. “Anyway, just trust me, dude. I mean, have you seen yourself? You could honestly go straight to LA and I’d bet you’d land some kind of acting or modelling gig  _ without even trying. _ It’s actually kind of awful,” Stiles laughed.

“But, really,” the omega continued, “you’re an alpha. Just like I’m naturally better equipped at babysitting or helping old woman Rosie do her laundry for a quick twenty bucks, you’ll be killer at any interview you try, no matter what it is. And then, once you’re inevitably hired, your energy and leadership will put you in a top spot in no time at all.”

Derek glanced between the show and his mate, blinking a few times. “I… you really think so?” Stiles nodded, fervently. “I’ve never even really thought about a long-term career, always thought it would be impossible… but now that you say all that, it almost makes me convinced-”

“Exactly!”

“-that I’ve been an idiot.”

“What?” Stiles was shocked enough to sit up, looking him right in the face.

“It’s true. God, I just, when they started getting violent toward me, the first thought I had was just run. I couldn’t fight three of them at once, obviously, so I just ran, and I just kept running. But now that I think about it, that was the dumbest thing I could have done, wasn’t it? I could’ve just waited, called the cops beforehand or something, set up a trap—hell, I could’ve just turned it around on them with firepower or some other weapon—been rid of them a fucking whole year ago.”

“But Derek,” Stiles whined, sounding sad, and so his alpha snapped his attention straight to him and his needs, “do you really want to kill people?”

“I-I, I mean, no, but, that’s what they’re trying to do, so-”

“And besides,” Stiles leaned forward, flashing a warm smile as he stopped his alpha mid-rant with a hand around his back, “then you never would have met me, would you? So I say, sure, it’s unfortunate you had to waste so much time alone and scared, but everything turns out fine, for the most part. So let’s stop dwelling on the past, and think of the future, hm?”

Derek let out a breath, and nodded.

Once Stiles had finished his cereal and the episode had ended—not that he would pay much attention to a stupid dramedy about high schoolers much anyway—that meant his mouth was free to talk, of course.

“Where are we going to live?” he asked, finally airing the big question that neither Derek nor his father seemed excited to get to.

Derek shrugged as Stiles got up. But even upon return to the couch, it looked like Derek was really thinking about it, if his expression was anything to go by. “Staying in hotels, honestly, it’s not the most cost-effective thing,” Derek tutted. “So, yeah, I think we should find an apartment or something to rent.”

“Sounds good, lots of nice options all over town, so wherever you end up working, I’m fine with anywhere,” Stiles nodded. Then he donned a more serious expression. “But after that?”

“After that?” Derek echoed, his furrowed brow and frown combo making him look either sullen or, even, scared. “I-I really don’t know, Stiles. A house, hopefully. But, again, I’ve never really given much thought to it…”

Stiles nodded, silently. “That’s fine. We don’t have to rush anything we’re not sure about.”

“Are you sure you want to stay in Beacon Hills? Or California?”

“Why? Are you not?” Stiles tilted his head, sensing his alpha’s discomfort and deciding to reassure him by pressing ever closer, sliding into his large lap.

“No, I’m fine with anywhere in the world, really. I just wanna know how you feel, too.”

Stiles thought about it, humming to himself with a finger to his chin. “Well, same as you, I’ve never really had to think about it much, I guess. I always just figured I’d live here and die here, sad as that may be,” he laughed, now sat fully in Derek’s warm embrace as arms caged around him. “But really, I’d be fine living here. Not too boring, lots of fun neighbours and places and stuff. It would kind of make me sad to have to move somewhere far away, I think, considering how I felt on those weeks on the road. No place just has the same sort of familiar atmosphere as here, I guess.”

“It’s settled, then,” Derek smiled, leaning his face slowly closer to Stiles’ own, “we’ll live here. And die here.”

“How romantic,” Stiles swooned, before his lips were taken up by his mate’s.

And for all the apparent nun-ness of him and his tarnished body the night before, Stiles was suddenly, once again, consumed by the sweet pink venom of lust.

After all, this would be the first time they fucked without the desperation or the drug-like effect of a heat, or a fever, to cover it up. That was simultaneously nerve-wracking and extremely enticing to Stiles, so he tried to lean into the latter as the kiss deepened, and he felt pleasure stirring between his thighs just as something surely began poking up into his rear.

“What do you want to do this time?” his alpha huffed, warm breath making his already blazing face feel even hotter.

“Y’know, I never got to suck your cock, so maybe that?”

“As long as I get to make you squirt all over my face at the same time.”

Stiles grinned, “Sounds like a deal.”

He loved the feeling of Derek’s large, rough fingers all over his body, dragging lower and lower until they could hook under his shirt, and then pull it up and off. Stiles did the same, his own smaller hands squeezing the muscles of Derek’s abs while his own pants were being taken off. Derek said something into his ear about how cute his little nipples were, how his entire body was so smooth, blessed as an omega to never even have to exert the effort of shaving anywhere but for the hair that grew on his head.

He rucked down Derek’s jeans as fast as he could, adding them to a pile on the ground before getting busy with the hot, throbbing cock revealed from the fortunate lack of clothing. He wrapped his nimble fingers around it like it were some sort of elixir of life—which it was, in a way—and pumped it in his hand, until Derek groaned and bucked and his pre-cum thoroughly coated his reddened shaft.

Just as Stiles was about to get the courage to try a taste, Derek suddenly curled his fingers tighter around Stiles’ waist, making the omega squeak in surprise as he felt something suspiciously more close to claws than dull nails dig into his soft flesh. But it was no worry, as one second they were there, and then the next, he was on hands and knees above Derek, both lying down.

Except he was facing one end of the couch, and Derek decidedly the opposite. So all Stiles saw was the veiny girth before him, and all he felt was those wonderful hands spreading his thighs open, warm pants between them that made his stomach feel all liquid and funny and amazing at the same time.

He made the quick choice that before Derek could inevitably reduce him to little more than a moaning, writhing mess of an omega whore, he would at least give Derek a few good rounds in the expert wetness of his mouth.

At least, he would try to be expert. Because, after all, this was the first dick he was ever going to suck.

He leaned down all the way, the only thing filling his nose now the piney, fresh of Derek’s encompassing scent, making him feel warm and safe and, given the scenario, unbelievably horny. Maybe it was just his arousal, but he swore he could seriously smell the lust from Derek’s body, the salt and musk of his cum right before his eyes, but even if he couldn’t, Derek definitely could from his empowered senses and the dripping wet cunt in front of him.

So Stiles extended his tongue a bit, and had a lick.

And he fell in love all over again.

His eyes literally rolled back in his head, he remembers almost  _ too  _ well. The scent and the taste and the horniness of everything hit him at once, as he lapped up Derek’s seed straight from the source of his cock slit. And if nothing before made it clear, the sheer deliciousness of his cum to the omega would make it clear that yes, in fact, they were fucking made for each other.

Stiles could feel the warm humidity between his legs growing clearer to his pulsing cunt raised high in the air, so he made another quick decision and opened his mouth as wide as he could, to fit that beautiful, girthy cock, and tried to get the tip inside.

He was surprisingly good at it, if Derek’s sounds were anything to go by.

But before Stiles could gloat about that, there was a competing tongue pressing firmly against his pussy, and from the many times of experience Derek had had before during his rut, he didn’t need to hesitate in shoving it as far inside as the anatomy would allow.

It was a far cry from the sheer size of Derek’s massive cock, but it was still definitely something. Something about knowing it was his alpha’s, who had fucked him, impregnated him, made it infinitely better, Stiles’ legs already threatening to give out as he moaned like a bitch around the cock still in his mouth.

But without the heat to turn him into mostly a pillow princess slut, Stiles really did want to give Derek some real competition. So, he did his best to work through the near-orgasmic pleasure from every lick and suck against his cocklet and his pussy both, and tested his limits on Derek’s cock. That is, of course, just how much of it could he cram down his throat?

It turned out, quite a bit.

Not the whole thing just yet, but he got it about halfway, maybe two thirds down. Which was quite impressive, of course, given just the immense length and girth of such a god-like cock. All fitting snugly in his mouth, against his tongue grinding against the textured shaft to get more of that salty, gooey flavour all over his insides, flirting with his gag reflex which was also blessedly lax, just like any good little omega whore.

He went up to take a breath of air just as Derek fit the entirety of his small cock inside of his own mouth, turning that inhale quickly into a little scream of pleasure, Stiles nearly collapsing from all the wonderful sensations that made him want to bury his cunt against Derek’s glorious face, let him eat him out as he clearly loved for forever, just orgasm after orgasm.

But he couldn’t cum quite yet, he knew, as he jerked the leaking cock off before him, taking it into his mouth in a proper bobbing motion.

And that’s how they got on, in their first 69 of many. Both of them moaning and grunting around the other’s sex, nearly spilling their loads only to barely hang on, driven by that silent bet of who could make the other cum first. It was a little difficult and uncomfortable, for how much larger and taller Derek was compared to the lithe omega, but it worked, anyhow. Certainly one of his favourite ways to fuck his mate, but then again, what wasn’t?

But there was just one little problem with the position, one that Stiles finally had to whine out when his thighs were shaking to the point of cramping painfully, so much slick already covering Derek’s face and Stiles’ cunt a puffy pink that it was downright ridiculous.

At this point, he just wanted to cum, and he knew that Derek probably did, too. But there was one little thing he wanted, first.

“S-switch,” he moaned out, eyes squeezing shut as Derek mouthed hungrily at his creamy hole, apparently so hypnotized that it took Stiles going, “D-Der, Alpha!” to snap him out of it.

“Switch,” Stiles repeated, and after half of a second, his wish was granted.

In a flip that seemed to defy gravity, Stiles was pressed between the couch and Derek’s solid body, lying on his back with his belly fully up and exposed.

But there was that cock, that solid rod of pure erotic flesh that made his pussy drench itself just by glancing it at it, dangling right above his parted, panting, drooling mouth, so it was obvious what he should do, as an omega worth anything. He took it right into his mouth, once again nearly cumming just at the flavour of it.

And then Derek got really into it. Maybe a little too into it, in all honesty, considering their relationship and boundaries were still so new, but hell if Stiles cared then, or now, for that matter.

That tongue latched onto his cunt, the stubble of Derek’s face rubbing wonderfully cruelly against Stiles’ twitching cocklet, and then there were one, two, three fingers suddenly thrusted inside of his tight hole.

It was almost crazy to think of how, just a couple days ago, that same pussy was virgin, untouched other than by his own finger or two, max. And now here he was, being eaten out and fingered at the same time by digits so much larger and rougher than his own, pressing against every spot on the convulsing walls of his cunt to try and get him to squirt right into his mouth, as promised.

And as Stiles’ eyes went wide as Derek, pinning him down with his entire body and weight, so hot over every inch of his skin, began to press down with his hips, too, forcing his head into the cushions as he choked on that cock fucking itself in and out of his mouth as fast and as deep as he physically could, Stiles somehow thought of something even crazier.

Yes, he’d been a virgin, with a hymen and everything, never done something more than kissing with anyone, for fuck’s sake. But then he’d gone and gotten himself fucked full of cock in the second heat of his entire life, allowed Derek to hold him down and deflower him, taint him, mate with him.

But that wasn’t it. He’d let him knot him, fill him with all of his bountiful seed, knock him up and use him like he was nothing more than an omega cum rag, a little fuck doll to fill with cum and pups and nothing more.

And now, that was more apparent than ever. As Stiles was utterly crushed into the cushions, legs spread as wide as they could, thighs raised onto the sides of the couch only to be pushed even wider by the alpha’s claws digging into the pale flesh, yet more fingers and a ravenous tongue almost devouring his cunt and all the slick he had to give.

Derek’s hips moving seemingly on their own, no regard for Stiles’ own comfort at all as he just drove himself from tip to deep inside of Stiles’ mouth, as deep as he could go before the omega began to really sound like he was sputtering and gagging on the cock ramming into his throat. It might not have been all the way to his balls, nor the rapidly swelling knot as the alpha approached orgasm, but it was still pretty fucking deep.

Stiles was reduced to little more than a moaning whore, barely able to move under the man pinning him down, arms just clawing at whatever they could get, be it fabric or skin or the table just barely in reach. Humiliatingly drooling a mixture of saliva and alpha cum that mixed with his tears from having to fit such a huge cock thrusting rapidly in and out of his gullet. He really was nothing more than a sex toy, in that moment, that position.

But he’d asked for it. And now that he had it, he wanted absolutely nothing else, he realized. To be degraded like this, objectified, simply used, was amazing. The only thing that could make it better, he thought, would be if Derek called him out on it, insulting him by calling him a fucking slut in the same breath that he might mutter what a precious mate he was.

But his mouth was a little busy making Stiles fucking cum all over him.

Really, it wasn’t just the eating out that got to him. The physical pleasure certainly was the primary reason to finish him off and force him into a bitch yelling out his climax, but Stiles swore he could have come with nothing more than Derek skull fucking him, just the arousal from the humiliation would be enough.

But, instead, he came a river upon Derek’s face, most of it going into his mouth to be swallowed down voraciously, but some of it leaking out to cover him cheek, nose, to chin in the creamy wetness that smelled unmistakably of a definitely pregnant Stiles.

And along with his cock being fully buried in Stiles’ throat, that seemed to be enough to finally make Derek cum, as well. But Stiles couldn’t relax too soon, for as his cunt continued to convulse around the tongue and fingers still stubbornly shoved inside of it, now he had to take Derek’s immense load, with nothing but his throat.

Try as he might, swallow after forceful swallow, Stiles just couldn’t do it. There was simply way too much cum constantly spilling from Derek’s own seizing balls, so much of it collecting so quickly in his throat and his mouth that he had no choice but to turn away and pull it from between his lips, or else risk drowning in the downward position.

Then again, choking to death on a huge cock and drowning in literal cum? There were worse deaths, certainly.

But for the moment, Stiles swallowed what he could, even as he squinted his eyes shut as he felt burst after burst of unmitigated seed hit against his cheek, eye, absolutely covering the upward side of his face in thick semen. And as he turned upright to try to lessen that, it only made it so the other half of his face got equally soaked, his pathetic attempts at taking his cock head in his mouth to drink up the messy cum proving ineffective, as inevitably he’d have to break away to swallow the mouthful of a load.

Things cooled down in the minutes following, Derek seeming to try to gently clean Stiles’ cunt and inner thighs and ass soaked in his own slick, as though to apologize for so rudely face fucking him just a second ago. But as Derek’s orgasm just didn’t seem to end, it was inevitable for Stiles’ whore of an omega to allow him to grow horny once more, and Derek licked him right to another orgasm that just drenched both of them again.

Finally, though, both of their orgasms subsided, Derek’s once-angry red knot finally dying down back to perfectly normal human flesh, cock going limp as Stiles almost suckled on it for the last pearls of that addicting seed. But there was plenty more on his face, of course, so he let him go without too much torture.

“Sorr-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Stiles snapped immediately. “Next time I give you a blowjob, you’re totally gonna do that again. But next time, against a wall, so I can try to fit your knot in my mouth, and not actually drown in your cum.”

Derek snickered, still catching his breath as he helped Stiles to his feet and quickly toward the shower, saying, “God, I love you.”

Stiles smiled despite the cum still splattered all over his face, and replied the same.

… They  _ did  _ have to replace the couch cushions, though… Whoops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Apologies for my lateness! But, at least next Friday is Christmas, and yes, I will be doing a Christmas chapter! Also a New Year’s one the following Friday, so maybe I might change it to Friday? Idk lol, who cares! See ya then, with more drama, fluff, and smut! ^^


	15. Bestial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> I am soooo sorry and sad to have missed Christmas by a mile! D: I’d like to blame the holidays and my family for not giving me much peace and quiet, but I know I should be spending more time on my works, really, so I pinky promise that I’ll get the next chapter done and shipped right on time for New Year’s! Promise! :) 
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> Anyways, whatever, enjoy this indulgent little semi-festive piece! I hope you’ve all had a fun year, and may the next be even better!

The weeks passed quicker than Stiles would have liked to admit, or would have liked in general. But, fortunately or not, that’s just the way that time goes, most of the time.

No longer learning of an apparent supernatural being just having entered their lives, nor constantly worrying about an imminent threat following close behind them, the two of them quickly fell into a routine, that, in many ways, was just like before they had left.

But it was different in some ways, of course.

Mostly, that they were together, out and proud and with nothing between them to stop from such reassuring acts as a loving peck or a warm embrace after a long day. Derek being there at all was quite the difference to Stiles, and to Derek, obviously, being able to reside somewhere perhaps permanently was a life much different than the one he had trapped himself into for over half a decade now.

Just as Stiles had predicted—if one could call his hopeful little speech that—Derek did succeed in finding a job. It wasn’t anything special, just a pencil pushing office job at some company that made something oddly specific, but was mainly chosen for its proximity to the town, anyways. The boredom of it in the few complaints that Derek let slip to his mate was well made up by the decent pay at the end of the month, one that had Stiles raise a brow and nearly consider his life choices until he remembered how he could barely pay attention in school, and therefore, a sterile office would probably be the worst place for someone like him.

So while Derek slowly but surely charmed his way up the ladder with his natural industriousness and nearly innate professionalism, Stiles got back into the rhythm of crying toddlers and neatly shovelled lawns. The neighbours were more than ecstatic to see him back, not only because of all the concern and no-doubt gossip from his sudden and unexplained disappearance from Beacon Hills, but because it meant they could have their reliable old babysitter back again.

Stiles had always felt conflicted, deep down, about all these odd jobs and favours. Just as Derek probably had, he imagined, only at least Stiles had the reprieve of it being for well-known faces instead of shady strangers. But still, he knew that on some level, such unskilled, dead-ended labour as this would never truly sate him. That was one of the biggest reasons for him wanting to go on that hair-brained adventure with Derek, in the first place.

Of course, more often than that he did feel the deep prickles of warm satisfaction in his heart when he saw the smiles on a working mother’s face, truly believing her when she said she just couldn’t thank him enough for helping her out with only an hour’s notice. The pay for such jobs was more than not lacklustre, well below what Stiles could have made being a server just about anywhere, or doing literally any other proper occupation. But, for the moment, he felt it not so much the right thing for him, but the right thing to do for everyone else.

And seeing those childish faces, hearing that youthful laughter, knowing a secret that he and the select few other alphas and omegas shared, it cemented something Stiles had always felt, but never been sure enough to be ready to lay the rest of his life down for.

He lived for other people. Usually that meant that one was a doormat, or something of a slave, but Stiles didn’t think so. Well, at first he sort of did, but a talk with Derek and then his dad reassured him that, no, so long as he took care of himself first and kept sufficient distance from others to not really be abused, there was nothing wrong with his life’s apparent direction. Everyone did it—had altruism somewhere inside their guarded hearts—just maybe not quite to the extent that Stiles did.

And as the days turned to weeks, Stiles only became more and more sure of himself, and his ideas of his own future. One with Derek, of course.

One where these other parents’ children would be his own. The laughter much the same, the whining and the tantrums and the needs and wants, but closer, more intimate.

Because it would be his own flesh and blood he not only looked after as he did now, but that he would be there for the most special moments: the first steps, the held hands, summer trips to a sunny beach, or maybe to a giant park half the continent away.

He was sure of that, at least. That he would have children, and that he would give them the best lives that he could possibly ensure. It wouldn’t be perfect, in reality, of course not. There would probably be scraped knees and arguments and falling outs, but he knew in his heart that no matter what, any hard feelings would only be temporary. Forgive and forget.

And above all else, he knew that he would protect his children with his very life, if it came to it.

And he meant that very literally, as there was still an unseen threat lingering on after them. A quiet little promise, always there but never actually doing anything, until they almost hoped it _would_ materialize, if just to give them something physical to reel back against.

Derek and him tried not to worry about it too much, though. Only a few conversations in the ongoing winter weeks. Not just for the fragile sense of sanctity at finally being back home, but for Stiles’ sake, too.

Because, Derek too, was beginning to change. Stiles had noticed it for the first time a few days in their stay—when he himself was sure that, yes, his scent was indeed changing to something sweeter, deeper—Derek had made breakfast for him.

It was nothing special, just some french toast and a gala apple, but it was definitely noticeable. Because Stiles was usually the one to make breakfast, and most of the meals, if he could manage. Not just because he was an omega—pshh—but because he seriously enjoyed cooking, and baking, and all that time-consuming chorey stuff. He was weird like that.

But for Derek to go out of his way to make one of his favourite, most unhealthy versions of a breakfast—and serve it right in bed, no less—meant something special. It just had to.

And from that day onward, little by little, Derek started to change. Holding the door, helping to get things just a little out of reach, always stepping aside if in the way, chaste kisses to the cheek in the moonlight, buying little gifts with the wealth they slowly accrued. Not so much the actions themselves as the intent behind them, the gentle, careful manner in which they were done and in which Derek always seemed to hold him, even look at him. As though he could break like thin glass, with so much as a bad thought.

It was obvious. He was providing for him, protecting his mate now secure with child.

The polar opposite to the possessive alpha he could become, whether through another’s aggression or… Stiles just pushing his luck.

~~~

Christmas evening comes to mind as the most obvious display of both Derek’s overly sweet display, and his normally hidden but absolutely volatile bloodthirsty one. Their daughter seems excited now at the mere mention of Christmas, as any young child obviously would. Stiles simply smiles and reminds her Christmas isn’t till a few more months, just a few more and there’ll be so many presents it’ll make her little head spin.

But in the past, their very first Christmas together, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure of what present to give to Derek. He’d even asked the man if he wasn’t even into that sort of think—gift-giving as well as the holiday in general—and Derek had said he’d be fine with whatever, they could celebrate since it seemed Stiles was eager about it. He’d never been good at hiding his feelings for just about anything, really.

Usually Stiles was great with gifts, giving and receiving them. Knew just the thing to give to any friend or family member, no matter how difficult or recently acquainted. His father was normally fine with socks or some odd thing he’d been complaining about, as were most of the older people who Stiles knew well enough to give gifts, as just one to his old man seemed a little lacklustre for the spirit of the season, at least in his opinion.

He would always have loved nothing more than to go out of his way to give every kid he’d ever met their own doll or toy they’d been raving about from TV, but Stiles was always careful about potentially embarrassing or hurting the pride of their parents, no matter their own seeming financial situations.

So, all in all, Stiles was more than happy to be able to get something for Derek. Just as excited as he was at the growing—and healthily so, as confirmed by the doctors—children within him, still far too small to really be able to see, let alone count on ultrasounds.

But Stiles was also nervous, much more so than he usually was when thinking of gifts. In fact, he’d thought of one for everyone else before his own mate, which he thought was a truly rotted thing of him, but it was too late now!

Just as it was far too late, now that he was sat before a roaring fire of the condo Derek had found them to rent out until a more permanent place could be found, a small plastic tree with similarly hollow baubles and angels strung across it.

“That was fun,” Derek sighed, slumping into the couch.

“Was it?” Stiles chuckled, crumpling his legs up in a half-sit to give his partner adequate room. “Seemed more to me like a staring match between you and my old pop. I’m sure he’ll warm up to you eventually, though.”

Derek shrugged. “Maybe. But maybe not.”

“Oh, don’t be so pessimistic,” Stiles tutted, swinging his legs around so he could lean on Derek instead of the armrest. “I know he might give the cold-shoulder at first, but it just so happens, you did too, remember?”

Derek grunted, drawing another laugh from Stiles.

“Anyway, he’s the same with children. Acts like such a grump, but I’ll bet you the second he has a crying little bundle in his arms, he’ll turn his tune, if nothing else.”

“Eight months, eh? That’s quite the wait, honey…”

“So is finding a place. How’s that going, by the way?”

Derek glanced away for a moment, then blew out a breath, tense and loud over the crackling of the fire. “Been looking. Not much so far. But I’ll be sure to have something before the babies are due, of course.”

Stiles’ mind flickered, recalling all the past weekends Derek had been busy house-searching and bank-meeting, all for seemingly nothing. Extending into the nights, sometimes, too. But he only nodded, smiling to himself as he shook away those thoughts, saying, “Sure. I trust you.”

Derek tilted his head, just a bit, almost imperceptibly. But Stiles caught it, for they were mates, after all.

“Now!” Stiles clapped his hands, “Present time, Der!”

Derek leaned up as his mate did upon him, half-automatic, and half out of surprise. “But didn’t we already do that, Stiles? At your dad’s house, I mean?”

“Oh, sure, sure. He got a replacement for his old microwave, and you got a proper winter coat! But that’s not really your present, I mean, it is, and you can keep it and everything, but I was just thinking, we already had one Christmas dinner and gift giving sesh at my dad’s, so why not our own private, nuclear family one?”

“But I didn’t-”

“Oh, that’s fine you don’t have a gift for me, the cute gloves and that new sci-fi novel were more than enough!” Stiles giggled, brushing his shirt down as he stood, “This is a surprise, after all. Just for you,” he winked.

That did seem, in fact, to work in catching Derek’s interest.

The winter coat hung placidly on the hook near the front door, as did the gloves lay just next to it in a small but just-recently-ordered metal rack. The book was already upstairs, a dozen or so pages already lightly worn at the bottom by newly acquiring human hands and their tendency to slowly morph anything they touch into something a bit more personal.

But this gift, the real gift? Stiles had hidden it just under that small fake Christmas tree, right next to the fireplace that was similarly false, more convenient gas hidden just behind yet more plastic wood that never did properly turn to ash.

But this gift was something real. Something he could only hope Derek would appreciate as much as he did, that would be something that could bring their lives the actual amount of joy the season always promised, but frequently fell short of really giving.

But this time, with a mate safe in a semi-permanent home, nice and comfy by the fire in a town he’d always known like the back of his hand, that truly rare hard snow blessing the Christmas night with its sparkling white covering everything, it felt like the greatest Christmas he ever could have dreamt of.

And this present would only secure it, surely.

Still, as he brought the small, humble box to Derek’s lap, he doubted himself. Thought what if he might not see the gift as he did, might just humour him, but really hold no special joy in it as he had been building up for minutes for him, and arduous days for himself?

But there was no going back then, as Derek’s steady hands pulled at the ribbon and the silk wrapping fell apart.

And from it, he pulled another box, even smaller. Black velvet, a square the size of Stiles’ palm. So, truly tiny. Just the mention of this memory told before numerous times to their sentimental little girl had her already more intrigued than any other moment in the story. But meaningful gifts were just like that, weren’t they?

The look on his face only changed when he actually opened the box, its one hinge allowing it to easily flip up and expose the red cushion within, the little slot in the middle occupied by a band of silver.

Of course, Stiles had known the implications of giving a mate a ring, but he had really just relied that not getting down on one knee and preparing a speech prior would dispel most of the misconceptions that could be had. But it seemed, as Derek pulled the ring from its box, he wasn’t confused. No, he seemed perfectly aware, as his eyes flicked from the tiny jewellery brought mere millimetres from his hawk-like vision, and right upon his waiting omega.

“A ring?” Derek asked, turning it oh-so-carefully in his hands.

“Look on the inside.”

So he did, bringing it even nearer to his dark lashes, those eyes icier than any winter. Then they flashed right up, opening again.

“It… has your name on it,” he said, looking back to the ring as though to confirm it for himself, a fact already more than obvious.

Stiles nodded, pulling from somewhere in the cushion behind him a matching box, hiding a matching ring. “And this one, has yours,” he breathed, allowing Derek to, too, affirm that for himself.

Derek was silent as he held the two rings in either hand, matching little circles of plain silver—not the kind that harmed werewolves, obviously—small engravings upon the inner band, hidden from public viewing, as though it could be some small secret, a private comfort in feeling the tiny, nearly imperceptible grooves against their skin.

At least, that’s what Stiles had thought.

Now, he kind of doubted himself, even more than ever. All that money spent on these matching rings, all of it that could have been saved or used elsewhere, on something far more practical, more important, and for what? Two stupid little hollow circles, bah, and how cliche, too, how stupid–

“Stop thinking,” Derek suddenly said, surprising Stiles right out of his thoughts that must have been so obvious on his own face, a hand coming down upon his only to turn it over, and place the ring plainly engraved directly upon the centre.

“I love it, Stiles,” he said, shutting his own hand around his smaller mate’s, giving him a smile that warmed his heart like no toy or treat or memory ever could.

Stiles watched in his own rare quiet as Derek took his two hands back only to make a somewhat dramatic show of holding the ring in his left, meticulously between index and thumb, and sliding it down upon the ring finger of his right.

And after it was snug and assured to fit perfectly—Stiles had sneakily gotten the measurements while his mate was fast asleep after another round of afternoon sex—he did the same to Stiles’. Fit perfectly, too. Of course it did.

Stiles smiled up at him, glancing between his face flickering oranges and yellows from the meagre flames, and the shining little band around his digit. He’d bought it himself, had it picked and designed and everything, kept it nice and simple on purpose, for the dual reasons of finances and practicality both, but he must admit, he still liked the look of it, actually solid upon his finger, the engraving indeed something barely felt upon his flesh.

 _Derek_ , he could almost convince himself he could feel alone. Of course, he couldn’t, but he could imagine so, at least.

“A promise ring,” Stiles said, sighing to himself in happiness as he snuggled up to his mate once more, “you could think of it like that, if you want. Or, it could just be a simple ring. Up to you. But it’s not an engagement or a wedding ring or anything like that, so don’t worry,” he laughed.

“I wouldn’t mind that much,” Derek chuckled, surprising Stiles enough to raise a brow. “Really. You could have just married me today and I wouldn’t have complained. I mean, maybe somewhere a little better looking than just at home would be nice, and I guess having a good enough story to tell all those people who would inevitably ask would be great, but I, personally, wouldn’t care.”

“Well then,” Stiles sat up, sliding his legs over in a quite familiar manner across his mate, until he sat comfortably in his accommodating lap, “it’s settled. I’ll tell you when, and you’ll marry me. We’ll make both of them special,” he smiled, watching as Derek shook his head slightly, but obviously meant simply, “yes, you little idiot,” than an actual no.

“Just don’t do anything like a public proposal at a football stadium,” Derek grunted, “I hate that shit.”

Stiles snickered, leaning behind him as he whispered in his ear, “See? I knew you had some opinion on this stuff, after all.”

And now, Mandy’s squabbling about the ring and how cute they look now and how cute all of that is, makes for great background noise to what must be both of her parents’ silent, but mutual thoughts, as to the rest of the evening:

“What are you looking for?” Derek tilted his head, trying to lean back to see where Stiles was digging behind the couch.

“Nowhere…”

“Oh, don’t tell me you got another gift… I didn’t even get you one, and you got me two-”

“You did get me one. Two, if you count them separate, which I will, because they were wrapped separate. So, we’re two for two! And now, I’m only one ahead,” Stiles smirked, finally pulling something from somewhere hidden in the folds of the couch cover.

“What is i-”

“Ah ah ah!” Stiles tutted, quick as a flash tucking the unwrapped object behind his own back, rising rapidly to his feet and keeping his front turned decidedly toward Derek as he slowly but surely marched away and down the hall. “That’s for you to find out… in the bedroom!”

“Oh,” Derek said, raising his brows in anticipation as he raised from the couch, “I see.”

Stiles chuckled, continuing down the hall and opening the door with one mere hand, not looking. “Uh huh, you get it now, big _bad_ wolf?”

“Oh, is it a red riding hood costume? I’ll admit, it’s a bit obvious, but it could do…”

Stiles laughed, shutting the door firmly behind Derek, as he made his careful side-stepping way to the queen-sized bed, “Oh, no, nothing like that. I mean, that could actually be a good idea, so maybe some day, but for now…”

Reaching the bed, Stiles climbed to sit upon the very pillows of it, turning at the same time he manoeuvred the present around to his front to still keep it from Derek’s line of view.

But the sound of a couple metallic clicks made it obvious what it was.

And so instead of turning around as Stiles had planned, a solid body instead blocked him, stopping him right in his tracks, as hands slid down his soft forearms, all the way to the little trap he’d gotten himself into.

“Handcuffs?” Derek asked, warm breath hot against Stiles’ neck, still smelling faintly of hot chocolate.

“I-I know what you might be thinking, but no, they’re not from my dad, or anything, they’re not even real handcuffs!” Stiles laughed frantically, himself amazed at the immediate panic that seemed to set in just by wearing the metallic links. Another gift planned, bought, meticulously thought about, and yet it seemed that only in practice did the emotions really set in.

But instead of the stunned awe that the matching rings had, clinking together as Derek’s hands slid down to Stiles’ caught up in the cuffs, this time the emotion was pure panic.

“F-fuck,” Stiles whimpered, clearing his throat to try and not sound half as nervous as he clearly was, “I should’ve taken my shirt off before this, shit-”

“That’s alright,” his alpha consoled him, in a deep, reverberating voice that somehow worked wonders. “So long as I can push it up-” he huffed, doing just that as Stiles gasped, back arching straight in the air as he realized too late that his hands were completely useless, unable to reach out and touch Derek’s, still held firmly in one of his, “it’ll work.”

Stiles gulped, shutting his eyes as he felt Derek’s right hand move up and down his side, slowly tracing over to his middle, and then lower, right about where his little womb might be.

“Are you sure, about this?” Stiles nodded. “I mean, what do you want to do, exactly?”

The question made it apparent that Stiles could have answered anything: “Eat me out,” “Fuck me doggy style,” maybe even, “Finger me for hours until your hand falls asleep, and so do I.” Whatever he said, Derek would surely do, no questions asked, with or without the handcuffs, although the addition of them meant that he would probably be even more aware of his needs.

But there was only one thing he really could have ever answered, in that scenario, with his rotten little thoughts in his pretty little head:

“Whatever you want.”

“Are you absolutely sure, Stiles?”

A slight, thinking pause, and then a firm, definite, “Yes.”

They’d fucked plenty of times, in the weeks following their arrival to Beacon Hills. Plenty of positions and situations and scenarios, most of them just typical, more-or-less vanilla, vaginal, desperate horny sex. But some of them were more unusual—some so gentle and loving they might have teased each other without even an orgasm before a mutual slumber took them both over in a dark, warm embrace; others so rough and strenuous that they had established a simple little set of rules:

Green means go, yellow means slow down, red means stop. A nearly universal concept, and one that could definitely be achieved the vast majority of the time, handcuffs or not.

But, of course, in the event that either one of them had their mouths full of something or simply desperately attempting to empty themselves of their breathless lust, a simple double-tap to the body or the bed would be sufficient. There might be a chance that in the throes of near-orgasm, Stiles’ writhing could be confused for that tell, but better safe than sorry. And, besides, it had never happened in the many times they’d fucked since establishing that rule, so clearly, it was nothing much to worry about at all.

And so that’s why Derek has no hesitation in wrapping his arms around his mate’s thighs, spreading them as wide as possible while still allowing Stiles to kneel upon the bed, using his leverage and his immense strength to easily fold his omega in half, forcing his chest, arms, head, everything down into the pillows, gasping for air as his ass was still raised high.

The tight handcuffs meant he had no hopes of even attempting to regain his stance, nor save his pride. He was fully exposed, in perfect presenting position for his mate right behind him, practically already mounting him.

Just a few little layers of fabric in between, and then he could do whatever he wanted with him—lick him, jack him, finger him, fuck him—whatever it was, Derek could do it, and Stiles would be totally and completely at his mercy.

God, if that didn’t make him soaking wet fucking immediately.

Stiles was prepared for anything, absolutely anything. He had convinced himself of it, as he lay with his head to the side, hair already thoroughly messed up, crumpled into the covers with only his thighs still parted and just holding himself up. Nothing to do but think and wait, shut his eyes tight and anticipate the warmth of breath, the drag of skin across his.

But instead, he felt the totally unexpected sensation of something shifting across his bare ass. Which… wasn’t right. Because Derek hadn’t pulled his pants down, nor his panties, and-and- what was that sound?

Then he got it, just as he felt the cool of air hitting his actually, genuinely exposed flesh.

Derek had just ripped his pants up with his claws. Torn a hole in them sizable enough at least that he could feel the breeze through it, all across his seat upon either ass cheek, all the way down to his upper thighs, the little mound of his dripping dual sexes of pussy and cock and balls all nestled relatively warmly in the rapidly constricting confines of his white panties.

He would ask Derek, “What the fuck?” but it was a little too late for that, a black swath of what used to be his lounge pants crumpled beneath a giant, rough hand, ending not in dull human nails, but in fearsome black claws. The sight of which made Stiles’ eyes widen, as for all the times they had fucked, he’d never seen Derek actually… wolf out, if you wanted to call it that. He’d only ever done that in emergencies, the few times they’d met face to face with his old pack.

Besides. Stiles had asked for this, hadn’t he?

And the second he felt a tongue pushing his panties right into his cunt to try to suck the juices out of the damp fabric itself, he forgave him right away.

Maybe it was the handcuffs, after all. Just the small gift, practically useless, considering how often Derek had him in this exact position, and Stiles would never try to fight or use his hands for much of anything other than balling into the sheets for some semblance of grip.

Or maybe not. Maybe it was something else, the pheromones in the air, known only to the subconscious that were their alpha and omega, edging each other on as either of them grew more and more restless by the moment with the sheer power dynamic at hand.

Or, perhaps, there was something entirely different. An unseen threat to either of their human forms, but similarly revealed to their more animalistic, silent counterparts hidden somewhere within their biology, their evolution.

It was hard to say. But all that Stiles knew in that moment, was that Derek was fucking amazing when he had absolutely no restraints, no holds barred, no regrets, nothing. He was like a monster, but one driven by lust rather than violence, just a desperate beast trying to get his fill with none of that pesky human thought getting in the way.

He ate him out through his panties with such vigour Stiles wouldn’t have been surprised if he bit a hole right through them, just to give him total access to the fresh cunt hidden just beneath. But, fortunately for him and those beloved pair of panties, Derek did at least spare that little thing from happening.

Thankfully, he also didn’t put those killer claws anywhere near or inside of Stiles’ pussy, as much as his omega might like him to. He’d like to keep that bit of him intact, at least.

Stiles wasn’t sure at all what was driving Derek to the point of claws and fangs and at least a little more fur on his face than he usually had, as he finally pushed the panties aside with a careful digit to really get inside of him. His tongue, too, seemed longer, thicker, as crazy as that might have sounded. Only slightly, as he wasn’t nearly transformed as he could have been, maybe just a fifth of the way there, if you wanted to measure it.

It was the most exciting sex Stiles had had since his heat, he’d thought, wriggling uselessly in the covers, beginning his endless litany of moans as he struggled uselessly against the pinching steel of the handcuffs, tight and irritating on his skin.

Yet the pain of that, as well as the claws lightly scratching at his ass, only seemed to drive him further, as he bucked into the mouth devouring him only to earn a snarl, one far more wolf than human.

That shouldn’t have made Stiles burst like a dam, but it did. Damn him.

Suddenly, it seemed that Derek had had enough, as he loudly licked at his own chops, commenting with a gruff laugh, “You taste more delicious every day, mate. If I could have it my way, I’d keep you pregnant all the time, if just to suck on your cunt more than anything else.”

Oh, if only Derek had known, just how true that would turn out to be…

But then, Stiles merely moaned, trembling legs sliding further on the bedspread growing wet beneath his raised cunt, barely able to hold himself up with only those flimsy, fawn-like legs as a huge weight flung itself over his back.

Derek. And not just the smooth skin he’d been expecting, either. No, it was obvious that not only was Derek staying wolfed, but he was getting progressively more and more.

Why? Well, that was a question that Stiles wasn’t quite in the right mind to ask, as he was being mounted by a man half between human and beast, panting and whining like the omega whore he was just a quick thrust away from being rightfully taken by his powerful alpha mate.

But not only was Derek hairier all over, he was just… completely different. Just like those few times Stiles had seen him fully as a werewolf, or those mutts that were their aggressors, too.

Taller, stronger, just over all bigger in every way. Muscles pressing him down in spots where he knew them not to, from dozens of times just like this. A slightly altered body, harder, more wirey, less accommodating for his softer, slighter form. But he’d rather have it no other way.

For those bulkier, broader muscles and limbs allowed Derek to press him down even further, the daggers of his claws growing by the second leaving red lines of irritated flesh as they dragged down his shoulders all the way to his bound hands, two digits circling on the small ring like a precious little promise, as intimate and secretive as the little whispers spoken directly into Stiles’ ear, still pressed sideways into the pillows.

“Omega,” Derek groaned, as he dragged something markedly more slick and throbbing than Stiles could swear it usually was, “you’re mine, all mine, understand?”

Stiles nodded against the pillows, whining as though to confirm it as he tried to cant his hips and grind that massive cock into his tight hole.

But that didn’t seem good enough to Derek, due to whatever state he was in now. Even his speech was affected, his normally even-toned, resonating voice sharper, bitier, more aggressive, even to his own, relatively defenceless mate, the one for whom all his aggression was made to protect in the first place.

It’s getting a bit dull to repeat it, but just as with all the rest of the humiliation and the powerlessness that Stiles had felt with Derek, that really shouldn’t have aroused him, but nevertheless, it certainly did.

Because, now, it wasn’t just apparent in unspoken words or silent thoughts that Derek was, and always would be, in control of his weak omega mate. Now it was clearly on the table, spoken aloud, directly into his ear, in a way that sent shivers down Stiles’ spine and right to his dripping cunt.

Stiles nodded vigorously, managed a, “Y-yes,” as his alpha’s claws dug into his arm, an empty threat, leaving no blood nor any permanent damage.

“Green?”

The words confused Stiles more than anything, took him right out of the wondrous headspace he didn’t even realize he’d been drowning in until he broke the surface of it, back to reality, staring his still mostly-human mate right in the face.

He grinned back to Derek, whose own expression then changed to match it, just the slightest few whiskers where there previously hadn’t been. “Green,” he assured him.

Then Stiles leaned closer, giggling to himself as he ground his hips back on the hard cock between his cheeks, only able to imagine just how red and bestial its very leaking shaft must look, drawing a heavy grunt from his mate, “Now, can you call me the pathetic cum slut I really am, darling?”

Derek smiled, blinked, and when they reopened, they were more gold than blue, shifting in the light. And it was right back to business, like nothing had even happened.

Stiles gasped as a hand drew back from his arm, dragging its claws all the while, to pin itself at the top of his spine, just below his neck, shoving down hard enough to press some of the air right from his lungs. He was left in a breathless daze, the dull but deep ache of being winded the only thing he could think of in that odd, high state.

But when he drew back, it was to murmurs in his ear, mixed with incomprehensible snarls and growls, leaving Stiles only to wonder if those, too, actually meant anything, or nothing at all.

“-little pathetic whore, look at yourself, hands and knees and begging for my cock, aren’t you? Huh, _Stiles, fucking slut?”_

“Y-yes! God, _y-yes…”_ Stiles whined, writhing, panting, moaning under the hand that pinned him down, spread across his back all the way up his neck. It was almost unreal, even to him, just how much he _wanted_ Derek and his cock. It was like that inexplicable transformation he was going through was affecting him, too. Turning him into something far simpler than the hesitant man, something easier, more obvious.

An of all the things in this world, he wanted Derek inside of him, fucking his brains out, making him cum until the sheets were ruined and his body passed out from exhaustion.

And Derek seemed, finally, after entire torturous minutes of teasing, growling, useless threats and insults that hardened Stiles’ nipples as well as his cocklet, he gave in. Aligned his hips properly with Stiles’ ass which raised even higher into the air as a result, angling his cunt perfectly up to allow Derek a perfect, easy travel directly inside, all the way to his life-filled cervix.

The tip of his cock slit just began to touch the lips of his pussy, push them apart to finally, finally breed his little slut full of his cock, making Stiles mewl, whine, beg, _fucking cry for it-_

But then, all of that was ruined.

Derek jumped up from the bed with a growl so carnal and loud it was more like a roar, Stiles finally able to see with eyes blown wide-open just how far his mate had gone, more fur than flesh, all but his face covered in thick, black hairs. Body even more muscular than it already was, so massive that even the very fabric of his shirt and his jeans seemed thin and ready to burst at the seams at any moment.

His cock was still hard and throbbing, practically calling Stiles’ name with its definitely red tint in the moonlight, still dripping the semen that was seemingly all that Stiles could smell.

Stiles felt so conflicted in that moment, just as Derek had to, given the way he looked back to his omega still in presenting pose upon their shared bed, all ready and waiting to be fucked. But the moment was shattered, something was clearly wrong, something that only Derek and his heightened senses could know.

So Derek turned back to the window, and Stiles managed to not crawl right out of bed still handcuffed and all and force himself right upon that hard, swinging cock.

Stiles watched in bated confusion as Derek opened the window, reached out through the screenless crack, and shut it right back.

And just as his gaze darted left and right upon the black, shiny business card, Stiles watched with his very eyes as his strong, alpha, werewolf mate morphed back to his proper human form, hair receding to its normal density, muscles shrinking to their more realistic proportions.

Even his voice cleared to its typical, easily recognizable tone, as he read aloud, “Nice show. Encore?”

Safe to say, they were both pissed.

To have known not only that they were being spied upon in their most precious moments by those absolute dicks, but to have to read a note from them just before they got to the good part?

Derek threw the piece of shit down on the floor as fast as he could, and stomped right back to his mate to mount him, properly.

But just as all that fur and fury was gone, so was the atmosphere. Some of it, anyway. Derek was still Derek, and Stiles was still Stiles. A huge, throbbing cock inside of a tight cunt, rough but human fingers upon tits being fucked against the mattress, you’d have to be trying very hard to be very bad to not be driven mad with pleasure by all that.

But, still. Even as delightful as it was, hearing Derek continue to please him by muttering what a slut he was, how fucking amazing he smelled now that he had caught, now that he was all _his,_ Stiles couldn’t help but wonder.

What would that massive, red cock feel like inside of him? How would Derek act, if he were truly, really, completely werewolf’d out at the same time he was fucking him? It might be dangerous, he’d probably have some genuine cuts and bruises after being bred by a literal werewolf, but still…

Curiosity killed the cat, and Stiles was nothing but dreadfully curious.

He came as Derek forced his knot inside of him, pumped him full of semen until his lower abdomen swelled, just the way they both adored. Derek was still rubbing his hands over it as he easily clicked the handcuffs unlocked, Stiles rubbing his wrists with one and at the slowly growing mound of internal cum, as well.

They lay there, for a moment, catching their breaths, as one always has to after sex with such an ideal mate.

Stiles felt more than a little ridiculous, his shirt all wrinkled and ruffled still up to his tits, Derek’s hand with its ring circling idly around one of his nipples slowly softening just as the rest of him did, his weak little load still streaked across his belly, being rubbed into his skin like some sinful kind of lotion. Pants still ripped with a hole right where it mattered most, panties just pushed aside to allow his mate’s massive cock similarly just pulled through his fly inside of him.

All in all, the bare minimum two could remove in order to fuck, Stiles thought with a little laugh. Perhaps they were already more animal than they’d like to think.

He glanced over his shoulder to his alpha spooning him, and gave Derek a look that made his opening mouth and inward breath unnecessary, the question already asked.

But then Derek shook his head, looked away. No.

Stiles pouted to himself, but then turned his head back down upon the pillow, breathed out, and accepted his fate just as he did the gentle nothingness of slumber.

No, he wouldn’t get to be fucked by a werewolf. Because Derek didn’t want to hurt him, of course.

That motherfucking pack… talk about a total cock tease and then a fucking cock block…

More importantly, though, they were here. Right there, in Beacon Hills, knowing where they were staying, probably where everyone else was, too. Nothing to stop them, and everything they wanted just a few flimsy locked doors away.

Stiles should have felt fear, just as they probably wanted. But instead, he only felt tired, irritated. He furrowed his brows, aiming his anger properly at those three good-for-nothing thugs, and allowed the mellow of unconsciousness to smooth his expression right back to the peace of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Hehe, a cock tease indeed! Nothing makes me hate bad guys more than that, lmao! Promise the wait will pay off in the end though ;) Until next time, tata!


	16. Ablaze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Heyo, happy first~ of the year! Heheh, sorry, little off again, but it’s cause this chapter is just so damn long cause, *drum roll*, it’s the climax! ^^ Yep, I think this will be the major climactic chapter of the fic, but don’t worry, cause there’s plenty more to come! No sex in this one cause it’s just way too long already, but hopefully that’ll be okay! >< Enjoy! :D

Stiles tried really, really hard to not think about the whole werewolf sex.

But, he means, how the fuck could he  _ not? _

Sometimes he could almost forget Derek’s lycanthropic curse, nearly an entire day going by without it ever coming up or gracing them with any quirk of its reality, until inevitably Derek heard something Stiles couldn’t, some far-off conversation or annoying noise in an adjoining condo.

Same for his vision, far better than 20/20, like a bird of prey in the way they snapped to movement and could track it flawlessly from entire miles away. What might seem to Stiles and his—in his humble human opinion, anyway—perfectly good vision like just a dot or a blur on the horizon, Derek could casually make out as actually a dog, even give the exact breed and colouration of it.

It went almost without saying that his sense of smell was far beyond what Stiles could ever even imagine. He tried to describe it being like his omega’s sense for pheromones might be, those strong, undeniable scents of musk emanating what was typically fear or anxiety, anger or possessiveness, and, of course, the unmistakable scents of sex and cum and arousal. Yes, those powerful odours that only rarely cropped up in Stiles’ life, only possible by his status as an omega and not the over 90% makeup of betas in this world, were apparently every single thing that Derek could smell.

Yuck.

Anyways, the days carried on rapidly toward the New Year, as they’re wont to do after Christmas was said and gone, for all its year-round hype a singular day seeming rather… disappointing in the end. Perhaps it would do better to have a week-long celebration, like Hanukkah, but then again, that would be ridiculous.

The snow that had been its own present in gracing them with the ultra-rare white Californian Christmas disappeared as quickly and inexplicably as it had appeared. Derek kept it up at his job, had already earned the favour of the vast majority of his co-workers and managers; Stiles kept cleaning drool and managing to keep a mostly calm visage despite the tremendous daily task of finding some way to entertain five-year-olds for three hours.

He found that stories were usually good. Real, fake, published, imagined—it hardly mattered. A story could go wherever he and the listener wanted, take sudden twists and turns impossible in real life, if not for reasons of common sense, then for the laws of physics. But a story didn’t care about any of that restraining stuff. No, it was the very bounds of human creativity, whatever that doting little smiling face wanted, happened.

Now, Stiles doesn’t have quite the time nor energy to do the dressing up and acting out part, but he still likes a good story from time to time. Truth, after all, is usually stranger than fiction.

But with the absence of snow and the fast-approaching date of a whole new year, with, truly entirely new possibilities for a very different life with his real, genuine  _ mate,  _ Stiles was more than excited. He got to spend practically his entire day with Derek—outside of the refreshing little break that he considered to be babysitting and chore-doing—just talking about whatever, growing closer by the hour with discussions that one might have with a friend over years, condensed into a lonely week.

Some things they talked about were mundane—most of them were, really. Derek’s favourite colour was black—no surprise there, really—his favourite food was steak—also rather unsurprising—and he wasn’t so ecstatic about snow and rain. They agreed as much as they disagreed, but in a way that was more so playful arguments than actual fights. In fact, he’d never had a single fight with Derek—not about dishes or laundry, nor something more substantial, as all of that had been silently dealt seemingly the first time they booked a hotel together.

Stiles ended up doing the vast majority of the house chores, for Derek almost always tended to work longer hours than his little gig jobs did. Sometimes he’d even dip into weekends, or overtime with up to ten-hour shifts some nights. Besides, Stiles had always enjoyed the quiet, tranquil peace of folding some freshly-washed linens, and found that now that he had an entire condo all to himself, and a hard-working mate he worked to impress as much as it was the other way around, he actually enjoyed organization and tidying things up into perfect ninety degree angles quite a bit.

But ah, there was a problem. Just one little thing, a small spot of darkness in what could very well otherwise have been paradise, reminding him that, after all, this was reality. Always nagging in the back of his mind while he did those chores, the distractions that were background music or a show or what have you not quite enough to drown it out, at times.

It was, indeed, those weekends. The late nights. Sure, it could have been work, but it just seemed… off. So early on in employment, so irregular, no specific reason or detail on what exactly he was doing in the rare times where Stiles built up the urge to actually ask him.

Maybe it was Stiles’ own animalistic instincts, hinting to him that Derek was lying, that it had nothing to do with work, after all. But  _ why  _ would he lie?

That was the thing that Stiles just couldn’t understand. Why his own mate, soon to be the father of their lovely little children, would lie to him.

So Stiles simply tried to figure out what it was, rather than digging into the why. Asked his own dad, the mutual friends that eventually became after being introduced to Derek, seeing the couple around town until they became cemented as the essential alpha-omega starry-eyed lovers of it. But the answer was always the same to his vague lines of questions involving the last time they’d seen or talked to his mate: nothing out of the ordinary, no midnight meetings or odd activity to report.

The last conclusion was the easiest to jump to. But it was also the one that Stiles wanted to think of the least, to avoid actively at all costs. Even to think of it as a blurry periphery, to even entertain it for a fraction of a second as a possibility, got him so anxious and emotional he instantly shook his head to clear it of the damning thought.

But as the days turned to weeks since they had arrived to the town, the worry only grew and grew, more and more each day. Like an ugly tumour, a dark stain tarnishing everything.

Couple Derek’s suspicious activity—or perhaps it was just Stiles’ own paranoia, and nothing more, truly—with the mystery that still remained of Derek’s actual past involving the pack, and you got something that made Stiles feel more than a little uneasy, even in those easy, routine day-to-days.

But add on the nail to the coffin that was the avoidant look to Stiles’ silent plea every night, the “no” in the air to a question not even able to be asked, the slight tang of tension in the air even after they’d fucked all the rest of it out of the other, and you had an explosion just waiting to happen.

And the day that bomb went off was New Year’s, exactly.

Of course, there were actual bombs, too. The controlled kind, dazzling displays of pyrotechnics bursting in the air at precisely choreographed times. But even then, with the ooh’s and the aw’s of the crowd gathered from smaller villas over to see the one show within miles, sat atop thin blankets to ward off the thawing bugs and prickly grass, there was still that little air of foreboding hanging in the air.

Stiles knew it wasn’t just him, as he glanced from Derek whose gaze fell quickly away half the time to his father, who even without the ability to smell the chemicals in the air over the distant smell of smoke and heat, knew just from his son’s even-more-restless-than-usual hand wringing and fidgeting, that there was clearly something wrong.

But no one ever actually stopped to ask, to talk, to discuss. They were all simply quiet, blending into the crowd of people familiar and not, under a sky of multi-coloured lights in crisp but no longer freezing air.

It wasn’t until Derek and him were safely home, the door shut and the jackets off, that Stiles sat upon the couch, crossed his arms, and finally had it.

“Hey, honey?”

“Yes?” Derek immediately responded, although without any special attention, just sliding off his shoes like any other day.

“You know what my New Year’s resolution is?”

“No, I don’t. What is it, Stiles?” Derek asked, seeming slightly amused as he leaned against the counter, idly opening the fridge although they’d just eaten. Wolfish appetite, perhaps.

Stiles inhaled, smiled a bit to himself, and then nodded. Fuck it.

“Why won’t you fuck me as a werewolf?”

“Wow… that’s… a  _ way  _ to start a conversation,” Derek huffed, seeming too caught up in sheer surprise and confused humour to really consider it yet.

But Stiles was deathly serious, even about such a ridiculous concept. “Answer me, aloud. And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me what exactly happened for you to get in that pack in the first place, how you became a werewolf—if you weren’t born one, after all—and where you’ve actually been when you’re working ‘overtime’.”

Stiles said it quickly, more to get it out of his mouth before he could hesitate like he always did. But he was careful to not say it with too much malice, avoiding the usual snappy tone or accusative look most would naturally have with such words. Of course, the words themselves were rather loaded by nature, so it was pretty much inevitable that the air would turn tense, as Derek merely stood at the counter, silent as ever.

But then, indeed, the alpha did begin to speak, after all. Even if it was disappointing, in the end. “You… know I can’t answer that question, Stiles-”

“Which one? The one about your past? Because that’s the one that’s been bothering me for the longest, and while I really would like to know the answer, part of me almost thinks somehow that maybe I shouldn’t. So how about the other two, hm? The werewolf sex and the secretive midnight runs?”

Derek shook his head, sighed, but for the first time, actually looked Stiles right in the eyes as he answered those two questions, aloud. “The werewolf… thing, is because I just don’t want to hurt you, Stiles. That’s all. I know it might be exciting or taboo or something to you, but think about it from my perspective. To me, my transformation is something that I usually  _ can  _ control, but once it gets to a certain point, a certain level of anger or passion or whatever, I can’t anymore, or, at least, it’s so extremely difficult my will power usually just can’t do it.

“And to know that I could be completely transformed, reduced to little more than a feral beast like an actual, dangerous wolf, with you helpless underneath me…” even as he said the words, trying so hard to make his own point, Derek himself couldn’t help but bite his lip at the thought, voice breaking as his mind wandered until he forced it back with a light fist to the counter top, “I don’t know what could happen, to be honest with you, Stiles.”

“You would never hurt me,” Stiles replied, stern and yet gentle as he rose from the couch to caress his mate, the tension utterly broken as he smiled up to him, sliding a thumb across his cheek. “I’m sure of that, Derek. Wolf, human, in between, no matter what you are, I’m yours-” he tilted his head purposefully, drawing Derek’s keen eyes directly to the permanent scar upon the crook his neck, the four tell-tale marks of canines alongside smaller indentations, utterly unmistakable.

“And I always will be,” Stiles finished, leaning up and nuzzling into his side at the same time he raised his arms to fully engulf his alpha, immediately sensing entire layers of apprehension melt away with that simple act.

“B-but-”

“No buts,” Stiles tutted, raising a finger to bop him on the nose like a naughty dog. Then he smiled, giggling to himself as he couldn’t help but go for the obvious: “Except for mine. When you fuck it, of course, in all of your werewolf glory, that is.”

Stiles took his much larger hand in his own, but could tell even as he willingly followed him through the living room and down the hall towards the bedroom, that he was still unsure. And as much as Stiles so, so badly wanted what he’d only been able to get a small, teasing taste of before, he didn’t want to be a selfish prick, forcing his partner to be uncomfortable just for his own personal gain… even if he did think that most of those fears were probably unnecessary.

But he twirled on his heel, walking backwards with all the confidence that Derek would warn him if he were about to slam into something, sighing, “Alright, alright… if you’re so worried that you’ll somehow, for some reason actually do something to me, how ‘bout we don’t go very far? The main thing I wanted to see was just your dick when you start to… get like that,” Stiles cleared his throat, trying not to trip on his own feet as delightfully sinful images filled his head.

“Uh, anyway, yeah! I only got to see your cock in the dim moonlight for like a second, so how about you only just start to turn, and I’ll jack you off or something and you’ll finger me. Sound fair, Der?” A bright grin to contrast those filthy words.

Derek wanted to protest. Really, really wanted to. Wanted to go with what his conscience and all of moral society would say about such desires, that it was weird, disgusting, unnatural, to want to fuck something that progressively became more animal than man.

But, at the same time, the side of him that really knew Stiles—and himself, for that matter—knew that it wasn’t so much the actual literal wolf part that enticed either of them. He could’ve been a fucking merman or an Eldritch abomination for all they cared. It was simply the inhuman anatomy, the difference in biology, the dulling of his thinking, allowing him to let go of any and all hesitations such unspeakable acts would normally bring, some of which might very well carry over from his alpha and right into the omega like some sort of telepathic bond.

And, besides. It wasn’t every day a typical, horny human omega just so happened to stumble upon a God damned werewolf in what had previously been a perfectly mundane life. Let alone fall in love with him, become pregnant and filled with pups by him, and finally able to see the effect that that furry, fury-filled transformation had on his body in a fully sexual, erection-throbbing light.

So what if Stiles wanted to have a little fun?

So Derek let him lead them into the bedroom, shutting the door just fast enough to be excited but not angry, all rambling litanies of words and promises intermixed with giggles that was the way Stiles seemed to like communicating, as Derek sat silently upon the bed, the slight glances and eyebrow waggling being his, apparently.

Stiles bit his lip as he walked to stand just before his mate, playing with his fingers as a sudden wave of nervousness passed through him. He was just so… big, and intimidating, and unmoving. Like a statue, but Stiles knew he wasn’t, because no matter how those eyes could only seem like they were straight out of a photoshopped magazine cover, they blinked. Followed him. Waited just for him.

So Stiles let out that breath of anxiety, and turned his mouth into a pleasant smile, more to encourage good thoughts in his own self than anything else. “Can you really… control it, just out of nowhere?”

“Most of the time, yeah.”

“How, do you do it, exactly?”

Derek shrugged, barely having to even look up to meet his much shorter mate in the eyes, even as he remained sitting upright but slightly lax, for it was their own bedroom, safe and well-used an all. “I don’t know, it’s pretty hard to describe to someone who can’t. Like trying to tell a colour-blind person what red is, you know?”

Stiles chuckled at that, but felt a small pang in his heart at the same time. Like he was missing out on it, some sort of mutual experience that could tie the two of them together. But then he remembered how the ritual involved with mortal transformation may or may not involve bloodletting and a goblet of some sort, and he was fine again.

For the most part.

“But I will say,” Derek continued, nabbing Stiles’ attention right away, “it mostly comes from emotions. Staying human or deciding to become something else, those are logical decisions I have to make from my brain, from the will power I still might have. But to actually do it, either naturally or consciously, I have to draw upon whatever thoughts and feelings will allow the rest of me to follow accordingly.”

“So nice, happy thoughts for human, and angry ones for the wolf?”

Derek chuckled, hands immediately coming around his mate as he finally sat himself in the wide lap just for him. “Sometimes. But it’s not really quite that simple.”

“Oh, no?” Stiles smirked, brushing some hair from Derek’s steely blue eyes.

“No. I mean, sometimes, but sometimes the wolf calling to me doesn’t come from a place of violence or selfishness. Sometimes it can be quite the opposite. Just a strong emotion, even if it’s just intense joy or euphoria, sometimes that’s all it takes.”

Stiles nodded. “I see. So, you fight it more often than I think, don’cha?”

Derek laughed again, but closed his eyes as he responded affirmatively. “It’s not that hard, if you or no one else can really notice it. It’s kinda like when you space out, maybe. Just become distracted for a second, and then you have to focus back on the present to remember what you’re supposed to be doing. But sometimes… it is really hard, and I just have to try not to let anyone see. Mostly when we’re in public.”

Stiles tapped a finger to his cheek, murmuring, “I might’ve seen a claw or two that wasn’t meant to be there… Don’t think anyone else has, though.”

“That’s good. But, I don’t know, it was just something about that night… it caught me off-guard, I was too, eh,  _ distracted,  _ to even realize what was happening until it was already over.” Derek shook his head, so vigorously it shifted Stiles slightly as he straddled his legs. “I know you don’t want me to say it, but I really am sorry, I just have no idea how I let myself get so out of control like that…”

“I liked it,” Stiles just had to reassure him, leaning forward to nuzzle his own face into the crook of his neck, a perfect fit. “So, how hard do you think it’ll be to get yourself going again? Just a little bit?”

“I don’t think it will be very hard at all.”

The effect was immediate, as Derek bristled beneath Stiles’ fingers with not just the typical goose bumps, but sudden, coarse follicles of dark fur. Stiles felt immediate excitement race through his body and soul like a wildfire, but the underlying feeling wasn’t that of joy.

No, it was fear, instead.

Not because of Derek, God no. But precisely because it wasn’t Derek.

Because that voice, that feminine, older, so obviously not Derek voice, had spoken that prior sentence loud and clear in the room—immediately triggering Derek into the start of a feral transformation at the strange, hostile scent.

Miranda. The white wolf—although mostly human now—seemingly the brains of the pack, clever and quiet enough at least to manage to find some alternate way in the house without drawing any undue suspicion, probably choosing this very intimate moment to break in, distracted alpha werewolf and all.

Stiles turned, sliding off of Derek’s lap but not being allowed to stray too far at all as now fur-covered arms wrapped tightly around him, a snarl coming from Derek’s mouth as not far behind the pale woman appeared the two males of his ex-pack: one grey-haired and short, the other nearly as tall and statuesque as Derek, but marred by scars and old, odd injuries that went from terrifyingly intimidating upon his were form to almost… pitiful, upon a normal man’s.

At least, mostly a normal man’s. Because it seemed that they, too, were struggling with the exact things that Derek had been calmly discussing just a second ago, reduced to snarling mimicries of human beings, baring their teeth across the short space from the bed to the door frame, eyes darting about not just in constant alert, but also perhaps in the internal war going on, hidden in all of their minds as they tried to keep their minds.

But with the naturally building tension and aggression in the room, it was inevitable that rounded nails would end in deadly points, canines shifting with the rest of their teeth in jaws that moved also to accommodate them, over all the entirety of their forms becoming nigh-unrecognizable as the previously soft, doughy humans they once were. Now perfect physical forms of violence and destruction, and in the three on one and a half—if you could even count Stiles as that mere fraction—fight they were gearing up to, it would be no brains as to who would come out the victor.

But thoroughly frustrated from so many teasing threats, and just general teases, all to blame by these three terrifying, sure, but also unbelievably rude opponents finally directly before him, Stiles felt the fear in his heart be rapidly overturned by another emotion.

Like a bubbling cast of molten hatred, slowly it filled him from the bottom of his toes to his legs growing restless on the bed besides his mate, knowing perfectly well what he would much rather be doing than having to be shielded behind his darkening form, the room filled with snarls that began to have his fingers and eyes twitching not with nerves, but with pure irritation.

It just didn’t make any sense, why they had to toy with him and Derek like that for so many weeks, forcing a constant weight of dread on them that almost made Stiles wish they just outright did something, no matter how terrible it might be. At least then it would be over and done with, but then again, he supposed that was the point of their prolonged torture, wasn’t it?

But combine that with how they had listened to them, had gotten together and mated on the night when Stiles had fallen headlong into heat, so obviously impregnated him and fulfilled whatever sordid request the pack had, and yet they were  _ still  _ for some inexplicable reason chasing them?

And still, still, after all these damn days of action or inaction, restless waiting, asking without asking only to never get an actual answer, just as how Derek was still unwilling to fully answer about his past or what he was secretly up to now, here, in the fucking present?!

Stiles had had it with being terrified.

Now, he was going to get some answers, and a resolution, once and for God damned all.

And just like that moment in that cosy little inn, it seemed for a moment that the entire world stopped and stared in silence as the tiny, inconsequential little human omega was the one to dare to stand and curl his fists, bare his own dull teeth as his fingers tightened around that of his mate’s. One who he at once couldn’t help but feel some of that annoyance seep towards, but who also he knew couldn’t be blamed entirely for his mysterious nature. There was simply something stopping him, some secret reason that he didn’t want Stiles to know everything. Probably something to do with his old pack.

So now that those three homewreckers of wolves were before them—even as they’d fully shifted so far that they stood entire heads above Stiles, his own alpha rising next to him to tower over him head and fangs—Stiles knew it was the perfect opportunity.

He just had to take it.

Didn’t he?

Perhaps it was ill-advised, hell, it definitely was. But Stiles didn’t care, as he opened his mouth and prepared to yell or insult or rattle off whatever his little mind thought of first. Because now, tonight, on the first day of an entirely new year, he was going to ensure that this was never going to happen again.

Not the chase, not the intrusion, not the pack, not the secrets, none of it. This was the final time.

Now, whether that insinuated that it would be because the three weres would finally decide to leave him and his alone, or simply because he and Derek would no longer be able to be victims of their wrath, alive or dead, Stiles wasn’t sure.

But he just couldn’t care.

“What do you want from us?”

“Stiles-” Derek barked, almost literally, but Stiles just shook his head, daring to stick a leg out from behind his protector.

“What is it that you want, exactly, huh? In case it wasn’t fucking obvious by the numerous times you’ve watched us fuck, and the scent of me now having to deal with monthly hospital visits and being treated like a fragile little flower by everyone who knows about it, I’m pregnant, and Derek was the one who did it. I can even get you a test, if you wanna prove it,” Stiles spat.

The largest being in the room smirked, a truly wolfish grin that sent a shiver through Stiles’ spine before he could recollect himself. “Oh no, we believe you, Stiles and mate. You two are just going to settle down and have a pack of your own, isn’t that right?”

“Correct. If you’ll leave us alone long enough for us to do it in the first place, that is.”

“Aw,” he shook his head, leaning on the door frame with a frame of his own heavy enough to reduce it to a strip of wood crying out in its own apparent pain, “but see, that’s exactly the thing. You really think we’ll just let the two of you go off, on your own lives, after everything he’s done to us?”

“What,” Stiles seethed, “has he done to you, exactly? Because, as embarrassing as it is to admit, I still don’t really know.”

“Oh, really-”

“His name’s Atlas.”

Stiles turned, just as the rest of them did. But he was even more surprised as his own mate let out a sigh, long, furred hand caressing his own face so overgrown as to not even have a definable beard anymore, let alone the usual stubble.

“The leader, him, his name is Atlas,” Derek motioned with the other hand toward the rust-coloured werewolf, whose name along with all the rest had eluded Stiles up to that point, the large monstrosity merely nodding, smirking at the introduction.

“And the other’s is Jonah,” he waved briefly toward the shorter grey one, who seemed just as confused as to Stiles what was going on.

“And that’s-”

“Miranda,” Stiles finished, snapping Derek’s gaze from the white wolf and directly to him. “I know her name, at least. She told me it when she tied my dad up to a chair.”

“Oh, yes,” she hummed, “sorry about that… Business is business, after all. I’m sure you can understand, Stiles.”

Derek shook his head fiercely, a scowl encompassing his features. “See? This is the way that they really are. She’s manipulative, Jonah is the mindless muscle who will do anything, no questions asked. And Atlas? Atlas is the worst of them all.”

“Is that right, Derek? Need I remind you what you haven’t been willing to tell your little mate, because you know just how damning it really is?” Atlas grimaced back, the dark red of his claws like dried blood, his eyes shining with a similar glow of unadulterated wrath.

Derek paused for a moment. Then he tilted his head back, the extended muzzle that was his snout curling in what seemed at first as a growl, but quickly turned to a humourless laugh. “You want me to really tell Stiles what happened? Fine. The only reason I didn’t want to is because I thought some horrors were best left in the past, but if I should have learned anything from the three of you, it’s that most people hold grudges all the way to the grave.”

“Do tell, then, Derek,” Atlas ordered, folding his arms as he raised his head, eyes staring down in a pointed glare of superiority.

Derek glanced down to the floor, averting his eyes from Atlas’ cold, intense stare. He let out a breath that deflated his entire form, and as Stiles sat back on the bed beside his mate to remind him of his presence, try and give him some comfort out of it, it seemed on Derek’s face that he really, truly didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to tell for whatever apparent atrocities were about to be revealed, whether they truly were as bad as the rest of his pack had been hinting, or in some other way twisted.

But at this point, he had no choice. And Stiles was so worn down to the bone about Derek and his secretive past, that he almost would have let that restless curiosity win out over the sympathy for seeing his mate this way.

So Derek bared all.

~~~

It had been a cold fall night in New York. Not quite dark and stormy, but about as bad as a day could be without a dark downpour of rain.

The electronic bill boards plastered stories high upon sky scrappers lit up the streets below as well as they always had, but there was something in Derek that felt on edge through it all. Not for the typical mugging or petty crime somewhat common upon the streets of his neighbourhood, no, nothing as mundane as that.

He was human then, as he had been since he’d been born eighteen years ago. As his sister was, his mother and father back in the apartment back home, warm and cosy beside the television, cooling down from yet another hard day’s work, only to prepare for another the very next sunrise.

He was human then, he was sure of that much. But for whatever reason, there had always been something within him that... longed for something more.

It wasn’t just him being an alpha, no matter how good of an excuse it made for his frequent night walks or other wanderings. No, no matter how much he or his family might like to have believed it, it wasn’t as simple as a desire for a mate, an omega or some long-lost lover that would make him and his life whole, fill in that gap in his heart that seemed to be the reason for his restlessness.

It reminded Stiles immediately of himself, as he sat there listening to Derek retell his beginnings, short and succinctly. In fact, it sounded so much like himself that his eyes went wide, listening ever more intently: the loving family and friends, but sometimes reservedly distant nature, the concerning but temporary thoughts he’d always written off as daydreams, only to forever mark his repetitive days as missing something that he could never quite put his finger on.

Just like him, just another end of the spectrum.

For Derek didn’t wait for fate to come to him. No, not only did he have that odd sense in his heart that that wouldn’t happen, but he felt an urge bigger than his fear of the night and strangers to go out and seek it, no matter the ultimate cost.

“If only I did know, what it would cost me, in the end...” Derek shook his head, mostly to himself.

But he searched for it, in bars where he looked and acted old enough to not get carded too frequently, in alleyways and department stores not all that unlike the ones he would later seek quick jobs in exchange for petty cash, come the future. But back then, in a way, life was simpler. He hadn’t any worries of some unseeable threat constantly on the chase, no major responsibilities or people or things he needed to look after, other than a little nine to five job that utterly failed to satisfy him.

And one day, he found it.

Heard through the grapevine from a nightclub, or maybe a small shop, who knows anymore, that there was a small gang on the other side of town, looking for those looking for money, maybe even permanent members, if you were lucky enough. Now, Derek didn’t deal in gangs, nor the crime he clucked at in the paper, so he initially dismissed it.

But the more he thought about it and the mysterious way that blurry face had described them, the more it intrigued him. Pervading his dreams, working its way into his moments blanking out on the life before him in the subway, until it was nearly every other waking thought.

So, he just had to see for himself. The first mistake of many.

A small hideout in an abandoned building, deserted in a gentrified but long-unused part of the sprawling city, forgotten by citizens and police alike. But not them, not those three, whom Derek would grow to know better than any friend he’d ever made before... as embarrassing as that might be to admit now.

They’d been counting something, money, probably. Turned around and greeted him with mostly innocent smiles and soft words, told him that their little operation was nothing more than pushing packages and parcels they didn’t even know the contents of, mostly supplied from the much larger and bloodier gangs and crews teeming throughout the city like rats hiding in walls, skittering just out of sight of law enforcement that was too intimidated or too busy counting their own briberies to mind much.

As long as it wasn’t murder, Derek said. And as long as it wasn’t hurting anyone.

Of course, he knew he was naive even then to think that. Maybe he was convincing himself, more than anyone else, as he performed easy, mindless jobs that were again quite similar to the ones he would be forced to do later, on the run.

But back then, he wasn’t constantly scrounging money, no card or account to his name, doing what he had to just to survive, no matter how humiliating or illegal the task. No, he had a job, a place to stay, saving up to get a complex of his own and begin his own comfortable life with the rest of his folk and peers.

What he did was out of pure selfishness. For the money so easy and quick to amass that he quit his perfectly fine, white-collar job. Greed, but not just that. The rush of knowing whatever it was that he was transporting and pushing, if he were to be caught, could end him up somewhere less than idealistic... as God damned stupid as it was, it excited him nonetheless.

And, for a time, despite his parents constant questions and the general concern from his friends and family whom he grew steadily distant from—partially without even realizing, himself—that longing inside of him was satisfied. The job became effortless as Miranda, Jonah, and Atlas became figures whom he began to know and care for almost more than his own kin, whom he failed more and more to see as he sank into the nightlife, street lamps and strange faces replacing sunlight and smiling ones.

And then, one fateful day a good few months after he’d started the first job for them, they sat him down. He’d been expecting this, not everything could be perfect with anything in life, let alone a seedy “career” with criminals who only in his biased mind he regarded as higher than the thugs they really were. He’d thought the fun would be over, that one of theirs had been caught or snitched and now he’d have to lie low, use his past good behaviour to keep him from behind bars.

But it was much worse than that. Because there was a younger, more handsome Atlas sat in the large leather chair that was their pseudo-drug den-style headquarters, Miranda and Jonah with a few years less experience but still a couple years on Derek strutting in and shutting the door promptly behind them, leaning forward upon the smaller chair he was forced to sit in. They made a pretty good act at intimidation, especially to him, back then. For he was merely eighteen, just as Stiles was now, nervous and unsure of the world and its cruelty, regarding his “friends” with a mixture of awe and terror as they surrounded him, grinning with teeth he could’ve sworn were sharper than they had any right to be.

And that’s when they’d revealed it. Not by telling, but by showing, as any good storytellers would. Thick claws unsheathed from fingertips suddenly swathed in rugged fur of the same hue as their natural hair, those canines were assured to be full-blown fangs as they dripped with saliva, tongues lolling from their mouths to lick at their lips in such a way that, when matched with the pointed, unnatural colour of their nearly glowing eyes, made them seem like actual beasts, common wolves, about to snap and jump upon him like a meal that had brought itself into their own den.

But they weren’t going to eat him. Atlas had laughed at his horror, all of them amused at how scared shitless he had been, so terrified he couldn’t even move, let alone scream, just frozen in fear. They simply wanted him to join them, as it was somehow obvious to them even then, what a good pack mate Derek would make. Strong, resilient, loyal. And, most importantly, another alpha to flourish their numbers, in due time, of course.

Derek sit there still panting, heart beating fast as he stared at these ethereal, half-human, half-wolf disgraces before him. Knowing perfectly well that what he was seeing with his own two eyes should be impossible, that they were abominations against God and all that was right in the world, horrors stuck between one form and the next, in some level of the transformation that must have been soaked into their very blood.

He should’ve just said no. Got up and got the fuck out of there, forgotten all the past months, his stupid itch for something more, confined himself to a perfectly boring, perfectly safe existence.

But instead, he considered. Seriously. And as those werewolves morphed slowly back to human, losing the fur and the muscles but keeping the fangs, claws, and those damn, vivid eyes staring holes into every side of his body, he damned himself.

And said yes.

But first, there were a few jobs set up to see if he were really fit for the task, riskier, even more well-paying jobs like slipping things to men in black in broad daylight, driving trucks with solid stacks of some addictive substance just beneath the seats. Just moving drugs and money around, nothing too out of the ordinary.

But the real test, the one that would really grant him those laudable werewolf powers—as he had been convinced, anyway—was something he previously never would have considered for even a second.

But as Atlas told him the details, as he drove to the location, as he watched the man in his fifties just minding his own business, walking to the grocery store at midnight, the promise of powers so amazing that they must be kept secret from all for the jealousy that would no doubt strike echoed in his head. So deafening that it shut down his conscience, his reasoning, all the nearly two decades of lessons and morals his mother and father had filled him with before.

And the next thing he knew, he was drinking from a wine glass. The taste of course nothing like any spirit he’d consumed before, much more bitter and filled with iron and other foul flavours, but he managed to down every last drop of it, just to ensure the ritual would work. Atlas stood next to him, nodding, the cut upon his arm already healing before their very eyes, Derek’s hazy mind already forgetting about the rope, the gag of duct tape, the flailing and muffled cries as he left that man strapped to a chair in some back room for God knows what.

From there, it was more or less a blur. He grew used to his newfound, supernatural powers. Not just his permanently heightened senses—although it was certainly a headache to acclimate to—but the transformation. In the first few weeks, it was so hard to deal with he had to stay at the hideout most of the time, just in case some random thought would spiral him into a rage that forced him into that uncomfortable, skin-shift, clouding his mind even more than it already always was.

But eventually, he got the hang of it. And he’d only get better, just as his skills, hearing, scent, and so on, allowed him to be even more efficient at work. The petty moving jobs lessened, replaced instead with the even shadier kidnappings and intimidation tactics done to criminals and bigwigs alike who’d done something to piss off some mob boss.

The days turned to weeks turned to months, all of it passing so quickly it was like one night Derek had gone to sleep, still human, and awoken one day to stare into the mirror as a shadow of what he’d once been, eyes a shifting gold in the moonlight that tickled his skin, in some apartment that he could barely remember buying in the first place.

The dumbest thing, though, Derek said, of all the things he had done, was how far it took him to realize it had to stop. Not the unanswered calls from his worried mother, who he hardly saw at all anymore, nor the rapidly declining youthfulness upon his face, hollowing and yet filling in with world-weary bags under his eyes, not even the numbing effect witnessing the never-ending, pointless cycle of desperation, addiction, and violence had on his brain.

He never did any of the stuff they moved around, not even if it were offered as some trick or perhaps genuine compensation for his work, but he might as well have been, with how many holes were in just the days before the present, how foggy everything became despite his keener senses for reality. Entire years sapped from his previously vibrant memories, entire years gone in the blink of an eye, so fast he couldn’t even be sad they were gone, because it was like they’d never happened in the first place.

What it really took for him to realize just how fucked he’d made himself, was the day where everything ended.

In the present, Atlas inhaled sharply, snapping Stiles’ eyes toward him for a fraction of a second before locking firmly back upon his mate. But the look of seething hatred, conflicting frown and twitching brow of sorrow, was something he never did quite forget.

Derek had a new job, one that Atlas told him and the two betas of the pack about with as much carelessness as the rest. But Derek had stopped, paused, asked him to repeat it. Because there was just no way, no way he heard him properly.

But he did. And whether he wanted to follow orders or not, Miranda and Jonah practically pushed him into the car, whisked him off through the littered streets toward the other corner of the city where their jobs would be carried out.

He remembers Miranda turning in the driver’s seat, telling him something about how it would be quick and easy. So fast you wouldn’t even notice it, like a flu shot or something. Or all the years of Derek’s life he was just now realizing he’d been wasting away with these fuckers.

Jonah tried to reassure him similarly, going so far as to laugh in some dark joke about the cleaning up he’d have to do. Derek used to find him genuinely funny, but now, he found it repulsive. In fact, he was so disgusted, uneasy, disassociating from what he was apparently meant to do, that he felt like he had to throw up.

The two betas laughed quietly as they pulled the car over to the side of the road, letting him shamble in the rain to some alleyway to find somewhere to empty all his nerves. Instead, Derek found after a breath or two of cold, hyperventilating air against the brick wall of some dark club that he didn’t have anything to vomit. That his nerves settled themselves, and suddenly, there was a clarity like never before.

He slipped down the other side of the alley, on to a street he swore he’d never seen before, although he doubtlessly had, many times. A neon-coloured strip, in the puddles collecting on the sidewalk were signs with naked, curvy figures and phrases so explicit it was a wonder how this entire street wasn’t shut down long ago. Then again, Derek knew exactly why, as he’d been a part of a few exchanges with sheriffs and the like over the years.

But it really felt like the first time, as he looked away from the lurid lights and the slurring faces, towards his own hands which he turned over a few times, inspecting the relative smoothness of his worked hands, his dull nails which he found he could turn to practical knives with the source of one crystal clear, loud thought.

He looked up, balled his fists back down to his sides, and knew exactly what to do.

Leave this shitty scheme, Miranda, Jonah, and especially fucking Atlas, and return to his normal life back on the better side of town.

Only, he was stopped before he could even take a step in the right direction. White claws passed over his chest, drawing towards his neck in an obvious threat, a feminine voice telling him to be a good boy and follow them back to the car, do his fucking job and hit the hay until the next, blissful day.

He looked between Miranda and Jonah, the people who he’d somehow convinced himself he’d known so well, when, really, he knew practically nothing about them.

And just as he had told Stiles a few minutes ago, the difficulty of controlling a transformation began. His own restlessness, insecurities, anger, boiled up in him until it spilled over in dark fur which covered every part of his body, foul temper taking over his entire brain like a malevolent virus, and of what little he recovered from those few seconds, he learned his true strength.

One alpha versus two betas? Like a knife through butter, his claws went right through them.

They were injured as they looked on after him, shifting between man and beast as he ran on two legs and then four every other stride, as fast as any car in the gridlocked city as he chased on through the night toward his destination. But their non-lethal injuries healed quickly and surely, allowing them to come to a stand and follow in hot pursuit.

Derek isn’t sure how nobody saw that particular display: three werewolves tearing through the streets and dashing in and out of dark shortcuts. Perhaps they did, perhaps they convinced themselves in their lofty apartments that it was just an odd shadow, the overcast downpour, too much drink, a figment of their imaginations. He didn’t stick around long enough to ever get the answer.

Because he didn’t leave, as he’d planned. No, now that he was shifted, he was in an entirely different state of mind, like a different being entirely, driven only by bloodlust and rage all the way to the hideout, where he threw the rotting door right off of its rusted hinges as he howled to state his arrival.

But no one answered.

Atlas was gone, he realized. The human still somewhere within him was relieved, not even sure what his own self was capable of in the rage-red state he was in, but the carnivorous wolf was only enraged even further. And as he heard the raking of claws upon slick grass, he knew what he had to do.

Leave them with nothing, just as they had taken everything from him.

In two strides he crossed the room, and with a precision and calmness that unnerves himself even to this day, slid out a drawer from a half-broken cabinet, and collected into his huge, wolven hand, a lighter.

He clicked the gas on in the tiny, deceiving thing, and knowing perfectly well how many years out of safety regulations the building strewn with papers and half-empty aerosol cans and other highly flammable litter just begging for a spark to set the whole thing ablaze, angled it down to the stack of rubbish upon the top of the old furniture, and left it there.

It caught quickly, at first just the surface of the cabinet. But as the heat grew, the flames did, and as the flames did, more oxygen rushed in to fuel its greedy destruction. And before he knew it, the fire leapt from every ramshackle old filing cabinet to dresser to cardboard box as though it were all covered in gasoline, the dry, dusty air of the building doing nothing to help dampen the flames.

Miranda and Jonah caught up to him, then, but even as he was shoved against the wall by a snarling grey werewolf, they all knew it was too late, looking back to the act of arson Derek had just committed.

It’s almost unbelievable, just how flammable a house or office or anything can be. It seems impossible, at first, that a mere stack of burning papers can actually become anything damaging, but Derek watched with his own eyes as he was proven wrong. No safety parameters kept up to date to put them out, no signals to call in the fire department, nothing. And so the flickering flames grew into entire blazes, crackling and reducing pieces of upholstery into smouldering ashes, rising until they went from dirty floor to asbestos ceiling in a hot, searing heat just as spectacular as it was absolutely horrifying.

~~~

“Alright, that’s enough,” Atlas huffed.

“No,” Derek shook his head slowly, “it’s not. I have to tell him, he has to know-”

“You don’t fucking talk about what happened after that!” Atlas shouted, in a sudden outburst that startled everyone as he slammed his fist into the door next to him, shuddering like thunder from the impact between his hand and the wall it was crushed against, his claws stained red digging deep into the wood.

For the first time since he’d met them, Miranda and Jonah seemed... not in agreement, with their all-mighty leader. They seemed just as frightened as he did by the unwarranted tantrum, watching as he slowly pried his claws from the door now with five holes looking more like bullet scars.

“Why can’t he?” Jonah asked, voice small, genuine. “I know it was hard for you, Atlas... but it happened a year ago-”

“You think a single year can make up for what he did?!” he snapped, all of his pointed rage immediately pinned on his own sub-ordinate.

Miranda defended her mate with an even temper, even as she revealed to Stiles a heart-wrenching fact, “Well, you did kill his parents the same night in a fire as well, Atlas.”

Derek’s eyes were shut, head hanging limply toward the ground when Stiles looked back to him. Deep, honest pain, so obvious and brutal in his beloved mate, right before his eyes.

“I... killed her,” Derek whispered, just barely loud enough for Stiles’ human ears right beside him, and the werewolves’ ones from across the room. “I killed Atlas’ mate, Roselyn, she was-was sleeping in the hideout for some reason, that night, never even woke up during the,  _ the fire, that I set.” _

“Yes,” Atlas heaved, so emotionally distraught it was like he couldn’t decide whether to burst into tears or to lunge for Derek’s throat then and there, so he merely snarled, lips pulled into a crazed grin, “and you know what  _ I _ did, the second I got the call? I sprinted the block away, right into that burning building, all the way up the flight of stairs even though my fur was singing, my clothes aflame, and I burst into that room and tried to save her. But she was gone,” he shook his head, still grinning as his voice broke between sobs and cackles, tears in his eyes even as his head tilted back in roaring laughter.

“And it’s all because of _him!”_ he continued, pointing a blood-red finger directly toward the one still folded in half to Stiles’ side, brow furrowed as deep as his frown as his eyes stayed firmly shut, as though rejecting reality entirely. “That’s your mate, Omega! He’s a drug mule, a thug, a criminal, liar, kidnapper! _A fucking killer, a_ ** _God damned_** **murderer!”** he shouted in rage, so loud it made Stiles’ ears ring from the voice stretched between a scream and a howling roar.

“How does it feel, now, tell me, Omega?! How does it feel to know the one you lusted over so much you let him breed you full of pups, only to know just know that he’s really a lying son of a bitch, a life-taker?! How could you possibly continue a life with him, knowing he’s murdered another man’s mate in cold blood, a defenceless omega really no different to your own self?

“How could you ever trust someone,” he panted, exhausted from his own outcry, voice like a bursting violin as though his very vocal cords were weeping, too, “who would never tell you such a devastating truth, until the very last second? Tell me, how?”

“How many people have you killed?” Stiles asked, calmly despite the seething mess of scarred fur before him.

Atlas snorted, shook his head. “Does it matter? None of them were innocent, they were all playing the game. Roselyn, she was precious, ignorant, didn’t know any better.”

“And what were Derek’s parents, then? How is that alright, but what he did, on accident, somehow isn’t?” Stiles shook his head, cutting Atlas off before he could even begin to respond, “No, I see what you’re trying to do. What all of you have been and always will keep doing. I mean, I understand Atlas and his reasons, but you, Miranda? Jonah? I don’t get it quite as much.”

The two smaller weres merely blinked at him, trying to seem put together, but he could tell just by their glancing eyes that there was some doubt going on.

“You’re trying to ruin Derek’s life, forever. The two deaths to your one wasn’t enough, you had nothing left after he burnt your place down, took your mate’s life by accident. So you followed him, didn’t you? And you’ve been following him ever since, like some sick, twisted game, always getting his hopes up only to dash them so you could get your sadistic kicks off. But he doesn’t really deserve that. He doesn’t deserve any of it.”

“No, you’re wrong!” Atlas began his shouting once again, but his own dying voice cut him off, leaving him coughing and sputtering as his straining voice made him whimper in pain.

“You can try and seek your violent revenge all you want, but it won’t get you anywhere. Why don’t you try and do something worthwhile with your lives, huh? Just like he’s learned, now, what an absolute waste it is spending life forever running away from your problems, just because it’s difficult to face them directly. Go back to New York and do your petty crime and leave others out of it, or maybe try turning a new leaf. It’s not that hard, I promise.

“And how could I trust him? Well, it’s quite simple, really,” Stiles laughed right in the face of their aggressors, ones who could jump forward and slit his throat before he even began to register what was happening, but he had a feeling all of this was almost over, anyway, as he turned to Derek upon their bed, lifting his fallen head just enough to meet his own eyes.

“It’s because I love him. More than it would ever make sense to, more than anyone else ever has or ever could, more than even I could possibly understand.” He smiled as Derek’s eyes slowly softened in his grip, as though melting in the reflection of his mate’s and his soft voice as he continued, “And I know that he does, too. And life might get hard, and it certainly already has for the both of us and everyone else, but I know that, at the very least, I have him, my father, my friends. And that’s really all that you’ll ever need.”

Stiles closed his eyes, leaning his forehead to Derek’s until he felt the fur slowly turn back to smooth skin, plain fingers intertwining with his upon Derek’s jawline, the quiet sound of his mate’s breath and his beating heart the only thing that he could hear for what felt like a long, beautiful time.

And by the time he opened his eyes and decided to slowly creep them toward the doorway, he found that it was almost as though no one had ever been there in the first place. No one chasing them, no empty threats, no stolen guns or precious moments, nothing.

Only those five holes in the door remained as evidence anything had occurred in the first place. And those could be patched up, with a bit of work.

But for now, Stiles was so emotionally wrought, Derek no doubt infinitely worse even than he, and so he pulled his alpha tight into his arms, and pulled him the short way to the pillows.

He wrapped the sheets around them both in a quick but fine-enough covering against the cool night air, and with one last motion, flicked the light from the bedside lamp off.

And just like that, he was pressed tight against his mate, caressing him in an odd reversal of their typical roles, but he’d prefer it no other way. And although Derek had no tears to cry, just not being the type to, Stiles still felt instinctually the pain emanating from him like a visible aura, and he tried his best with silent thoughts and small touches to heal his still-broken wounds.

To promise him that he would never lose anything precious ever again, not so long as Stiles could help it. That he would never have to run or be fearful, that he would always have a home and a heart to fall back on.

Oh, how he wished he could promise those for sure, aloud, without any worry or doubt that the flippant nature of life might prove him wrong. But there was one thing that Stiles knew for absolute sure, above all else. And that was that those three would never come back.

And he was right.

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	17. Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Sorry for the delay, somehow I completely forgot what day it was lol… enjoy the smut nonetheless! :D

The weeks following were peaceful.

No longer with any undercurrent of tension or threat, Derek slept more soundly than Stiles had ever seen him before. No worried glances or long, distant stares out the windows; no sudden head turns towards any unexpected snap of a branch during a walk in the park, nothing.

It thoroughly soothed Stiles as much as it partly saddened him.

Because gone, too, was much of the previous possessiveness Derek held in him for his mate. With little to no worries in a town that Stiles had grown up in all his life—and clearly never found a suitor among the population of a vast majority of unfitting betas—that fire in his alpha was all but smothered out.

That, too, was another source of cognitive dissonance for Stiles. Because, on one hand, he did like being treated less like a fragile thing of glass that could break at the slightest inconvenience. He was a perfectly grown adult man, and could do things all by his own, thank you very much.

But on the other hand, it clearly wasn’t just the coddling that lessened as a result. It was everything else, too. Like that constant, underlying threat was the thing that, in a way, gave their fleeting lives purpose, however temporary they seemed. Like the knowledge that that very day could be the last—or, at least, the last as usual as they had known it to be—lit a spark in either of them, one that pushed them to do all sorts of very unusual things.

Quite the hypocrite, no matter how delicate Derek had treated, and partially continued to treat, his pregnant mate, things would change come the curtain of night. All it took was the mere mention of the werewolves out there, or the possibility of something changing the course of their lives in some other way, and Derek would snap like a string pulled too taut.

Heated faux-arguments would turn to sweet but vile nothings whispered in his ear, as Derek shoved him down into the bed to have his wondrous little way with him. Even just the thought of it, as Stiles idly hangs over a rapidly delicious-smelling oven, had him heated and drooling in another way, too.

But, really, it was probably just nostalgia that blinded Stiles in that moment. Muddling his thinking, making the past seem all rosy-tinted as time tended to make it. Really, those times didn’t happen nearly as often as he would have liked them to, and on the rare occasion that Derek’s desperation lasted all the way to the bedroom, or some other suitable-enough surface, he still obviously held some level of hesitation, humanity.

No matter how Stiles would try to spur him on with hardly coherent words choking around moans, or waves of pleased compliments and comments of encouragement to “do even more”, “don’t think, just do”, there was always some remnant of something holding Derek back from really treating him like the fuck doll that he so strangely wanted.

Of course, after the whole nearly-wolfing-out and then the invasion by those werewolves that everything had been leading up to, Stiles partly understood why Derek was always holding back. In the days since, Stiles was almost more careful and doting of his alpha than his alpha had been of him, funnily enough.

But as it became clear that Derek was steadily getting more of a grip on reality, and the fact that his mate, truly, wouldn’t leave him despite all the horrid things done in his past—the word _past_ being the main reason why to him—the two eventually returned to their old, familiar roles of the protector and the protected, as their biologies would naturally have it.

But as Stiles was so sourly thinking of before, they didn’t really completely go back. And they were never really there to begin with.

Don’t get him wrong, he really does love Derek with all his heart. This silly wish to be treated like little more than a toy, no holds barred, nothing between them, was probably more an act of reassurement to Stiles, something to show just how much he trusted Derek and how much he would have to trust him, to shed his humanity in favour of the roaring alpha within him.

But he didn’t need it. No, he could live the rest of his beautiful life with his mate without ever having to do anything so depraved, so kinky. The occasional handcuff session was enough for most monogamous couples, and so it would be for them, he was sure.

And yet, as he leaned over the counter top, elbow slowly sliding down the slippery surface of the metal sink, staring out the window so dark he couldn’t have seen anything even if he were actually looking, he couldn’t help but wonder.

For so is the great folly of Stiles and his ilk. Can’t help but always question until it gets him tied down and strapped full with pups.

Eh, could be worse.

~~~

“That might have been the best salmon I’ve ever had.”

“Even from a restaurant?” Stiles laughed, “Don’t flatter me too much, it’ll go to my head.”

“Little late for that, don’t you think? But really, dinner was amazing, as always.”

Stiles nodded before making a flourish of pulling the yellow dishwashing gloves dramatically from his hands, a high squeaking sound making Derek wince each time.

“You want dessert, then?”

“You made dessert?” Derek asked, cocking a brow. “I don’t know, I’m pretty full already-”

“I’m sure there’s some room left in that ravenous belly of yours,” Stiles grinned, lightly patting Derek in said spot as he passed him, hand sliding down to latch into Derek’s much larger mitt as he continued on. “But really, it’s not food, honey. I mean, it can be, if you want it to, but I meant more so the activity in general,” Stiles giggled impishly.

“Oh,” Derek grunted, finally getting it.

And so he followed his omega into the bedroom, as he did almost every night. The same laughter and flirting as they removed each other’s clothing piece by piece, shifting legs over laps and fingers running up and down tender skin that was all their own.

No different from the dozens of other times they’d done this exact act of foreplay to the actual foreplay, only that it was now instead of in the past, nor the future where surely it would happen all over again. Now it was night, they were full of dinner and happy and warm from it and each other, unlike perhaps the times they would do this in the early peaks of dawn despite having done it the night before, still connected and messy and yet somehow still unsatisfied.

Derek thought it would be just like all those other times, post-breaking in from his ex-pack. Except perhaps this time he would get to eat Stiles out, or maybe they would do it doggy style or some other inane position.

But when they were both completely naked, exposed and vulnerable beneath the pale moonlight from the large window just beside the queen-sized bed, Stiles opened his mouth and changed every preconceived notion Derek might have had about that night, or the immediate future.

“Wolf out on me,” Stiles said, more like a breathy roll of his mischievous little tongue than easily decipherable consonants, so Derek almost doubted what he said, as he did a literal double take, rising back partially on his haunches from where he’d been nibbling at Stiles’ ear.

“You-what?” Derek asked, seeming genuinely shocked.

Stiles rolled his eyes playfully, but settled them back down onto his mate with a sigh, mostly serious now. “What, did you think I’d forget about what we were doing _before_ those guys broke into our condo three weeks ago? No, no, no, I don’t think so, Der. I won’t let you get away that easy,” he giggled again, running a hand down Derek’s bare chest.

Derek shook his head, letting loose a sigh of his own as he held his mate ever tighter to his body, both of them still sitting upright, for the most part. “No, I never put it past you to get past your dirty thoughts, Stiles,” said Stiles laughed at that, “but, I don’t know… I know now that I should be able to trust you perfectly well, now that you know everything I’ve done and all, but I guess there’s just a part of me that will always worry about hurting you.”

“Derek,” Stiles tutted low, lightly caressing his face while also turning it directly towards his own, “I thought we got over this last time… But ah, it’s okay, I know you only mean the best for your little mate, right? So trust me when I say…”

Stiles leaned forward, his entire body collapsing on that of his stronger, more solid mate’s, until from forehead to chest to thigh, they slotted perfectly together. Between lips moving against another’s like a light kiss, he spoke aloud his final request with all the lustful yet dead serious air he could conjure:

“I want you to give in completely to that cursed wolf inside of you that wants to do whatever it wants with me, which, I know, is just to breed and mate with me until I’m so stuffed full of his semen and pups that I’ll barely be able to move, hm? Just a nice, soft body to dig your claws into, your fangs in my neck, as you pump me full of cum and knot my slutty cunt bright red from how hard you’d fuck me?”

“Stiles-”

“That’s what you really want, isn’t it?” Stiles continued despite Derek’s half-assed, breathy pleading against his own mouth, the darting blue eyes nearly filling the entirety of his vision, “Because I know that’s what you want, _Alpha._ So stop constantly having to fight that voice in your head, that voice that must be so loud, all the time.” Stiles paused his sultry act to tilt his head slightly, eyes refilling with brightness to ask in an airy breath, “Am I right? Is that how it works, Derek?”

“Well, yea-”

“Good,” Stiles chirped, going straight back to his sinful performance with heavy-lidded eyes. “Now, what do you say, huh, big bad wolf? Gonna finally give your mind a break and just do whatever you want to me? You know I want it too~”

Derek seemed to be trying with one last flutter of his lashes to hold back, deny himself of his own nature, but he remembered just as well as Stiles the little conversation that they’d had before being so rudely interrupted.

Knowing just how close they’d been from truly fucking with no worries of the consequences, how good it had felt when his body had inadvertently slipped into its feral status as it detected the scents of predators his human conscience didn’t yet recognize, lapping at Stiles’ cunt with an even further bolstered sense of taste as he mounted him like a true beast, just one second away from slipping his swollen, dripping cock right inside of his tight little body-

And now, now it didn’t help that Stiles was still murmuring in his ear, giggling like the mischievous little slut that he was as his tongue and lips worked into his brain to fill him with all the filthy thoughts he could think up, his small, pale hand slipping between their warm bodies pressed flush to blindly find Derek’s cock, and then palming it with light, teasing touches that were more infuriating than pleasing, drawing grunts and growls from his alpha.

And it was all done on fucking purpose, of course.

Stiles didn’t really expect it when Derek suddenly snarled with that unfamiliar, hair-prickling voice, crashing forward to pin him to the bed with overwhelming strength as he crushed him from head to toe, but he wasn’t really complaining, either.

And he _especially_ wasn’t complaining when he felt a spark of pain from his scalp, eyes flitting open and up to see that one of Derek’s hands was rustling through his hair, sometimes pulling just hard enough that a simultaneous growl ensured Stiles that this was his punishment for being such an utter whore.

“You want it?” Derek barked, low and even more rumbly than the wide-eyed Stiles could’ve ever believed a human voice could go—but then again, he wasn’t really human, was he?

For the hand that slid down from his neck to his bare breast was slightly furred—not just the arm, as one might normally expect of a particularly hairy individual—but the hand itself, palm and all, began to be overgrown with thick, jet black streaks of glossy fur that tickled Stiles’ skin just as much as it made him tingle between his legs, thinking of all the other changes that would come in mere seconds from his alpha mate.

“You got it,” Derek snarled, grinning with canines that Stiles could see not only directly, but literally right next to his face. Closer than he’d ever seen Derek in this form, as his white, deadly sharp fangs glimmered like snow in the light from the full moon, sending a chill up his spine as he thought, huh, maybe this was a mistake after all…

But then Derek suddenly stopped, and Stiles worried that he might have spoken too soon, and he’d have to encourage him all over again, and ug-

“I can feel it,” Derek spoke, just as quickly and confusingly to Stiles.

“What’re you talking ab-”

“Feel,” the half-were said simply, and then Stiles’ hand was being taken, moved as Stiles gave a suspicious look to his mate who only stared back with an expression of grave seriousness.

And for a moment, Stiles still held his own, wondering what in the world Derek could be on about that was just keeping him from giving them what they both wanted yet again.

But whatever annoyance he felt immediately faded, snapping like a thin twig in the dull of night, as he realized what Derek meant, as his large, still furry hand slowly drew circles with Stiles’ much smaller, still decidedly human one.

Directly over his stomach. Or, perhaps a little lower, but who cares for the technicalities.

Now, to his daughter and all the rest of his children past and present, the story of when Stiles first really felt that genuine swell of life is simple and idealistic. Something about waking up one morning and realizing with a hand just wandering over a growling stomach that, oh, he was pregnant, physically and everything!

But in reality, as was much of his and Derek’s personal lives together, it was much more complex. Not the sort of thing one could really tell anyone, not one that would ever occur in any blockbuster movie or novel, but that was more than fine with him.

Because laying perfectly naked beneath his mate, pressed together with just barely enough space between them for their hands to slip between smooth skin and thick fur, still so aroused and leaking that it made his head practically spin, that was the real moment that the two realized with matching stunned expressions that they could feel the slight bump in Stiles’ form.

Just the tiniest change in angle, the smallest incline where there previously had not been anything, but if anyone would notice it, it would be his empowered werewolf alpha just before they partook in yet another act of depraved sex.

It was just logical, really.

Eventually, the shock turned to joy, then pure elation, as open mouths closed partially to become bright grins, wetness forming in the corners of Stiles’ eyes that made him laugh at just how silly he himself was being.

Because it was obvious that he was pregnant before: a test kit and subsequent couple of doctor’s visits ensured that much, although it was still far too early to really be able to tell much other than that he was with life at all.

But to be able to _feel_ it, with his own fingers, lightly curling over his own skin as Derek’s soft fur slotted between his digits to feel it too, it was like a solidifying, grounding evidence that couldn’t be refuted, no matter how hard anyone tried. And just knowing that over the coming months, it would only grow and grow with the precious lives safe within him, it was as emotional as it was amazing.

Their mouths met in a silent celebration, forgetting the lust and plan of a few minutes ago as they were too busy being filled with pure joy, nothing to tarnish it, for a glorious moment.

But then, surely enough, the bright unreal feeling of their realization wore off into something more manageable, lust creeping back in like an uninvited but secretly appreciated guest, as the kiss turned into something wetter, more tongue and teeth than simple lips.

Stiles himself remembers distinctly drawing his hand down over that tiny, tiny swell of his womb, directing Derek to both of their desperately aching sexes in bad need of yet another first-time celebration: penetrative sex with a literal fucking werewolf.

The tears were still freely flowing as he tilted his head back against the pillow to let loose a loud moan, Derek’s fingers growing steadily larger and the fur only longer as two of them slid down the head of his pink cocklet, fingering it more like a clit than a proper erection, as it was more the size of one, anyway.

He decided he couldn’t be the only one to get all the fun, though, and so turned his hand to face palm up, wrapping it clumsily around Derek’s shaft what with the awkward angle and the inability to see anything he was doing. But the snarling grunts against his cheek seemed good enough, as he pumped his mate’s erection to full hardness—not that it had been that far away in the first place.

Derek’s hand plunged past Stiles’ prick and useless testicles to get straight to his long-awaited prize: a dripping, creamy cunt made so all for and solely by him.

As his fingers parted past puffy pink lips to swirl teasingly around a sensitive but well-fucked hole from just that morning, Derek noted that he wasn’t normally one to feel almost proud of that fact, that is, that all of that delicious-smelling ambrosia of slick was made for him and produced from Stiles’ arousal purely by being near him.

He felt his head swim, not at all unlike the rut he’d been sent into during Stiles’ heat, the thing that had started all of this.

It clicked into place just as he heard a whore-like gasp from his mate as he finally buried three thick fingers to the knuckle in the cunt that he might as well own, fur becoming immediately drenched in all that creamy cum.

He wasn’t filtering himself and his thoughts anymore. The alpha, the wolf, in him was like an avalanche in the way it exponentially increased its seize over his mind and its internal communication, transforming him from the civilized man he’d been not an hour before to little more than a horny beast, one that knew only mate, breed, take, fuck.

Maybe Stiles was right after all. Maybe he should allow the wolf to consume him entirely, on purpose, for once in his life.

Stiles was able to literally watch as Derek’s thought process changed, as that tense face melted, closing its eyes only to reopen them with that cool golden glow, focused entirely on him.

He could also feel it, as no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on giving Derek the hand job of his life with his carefully swirling fingertips tracing throbbing veins on the delicious swell of his massive cock growing by the second, he was overwhelmed with the passionate way Derek’s wondrous fingers flexed and curled inside of his pussy.

He couldn’t help but moan, loud and delirious, losing his grip almost entirely on Derek’s cock tip leaking thick pearls of white cum, his head so clouded with just the thought of sperm and having that thick, red thing inside of him he was basically a mindless creature at that point.

His spine tried to curl all on its own from the immense pleasure, but found it couldn’t really go that far, as it was crushed every inch against solid, square muscle, partly glistening with dewey sweat as he huffed and puffed above his mate. Stiles managed to part his eyes squeezed tight from just how well Derek’s three—now four—fingers were fucking all the cum out of him, and saw just how far gone his alpha truly was.

Just as before, his already impressive muscles somehow grew in mass and definition, tremendous power obvious even in just the way his growing claws dug into Stiles’ hips, keeping him pinned down as he tried to grind his cunt against Derek’s cock. He was becoming stronger, faster, deadlier, second by second, drawing more into the uninhibited carnal abilities that humans sorely lack, as he shed his humanity and its irritating higher thinking like a second skin.

By far more sleek fur than human flesh, it covered every limb, flexing muscle, facial feature, everywhere. Well, except for one place, Stiles knew from that one, blurry memory of weeks before.

But suddenly, Derek thrusted his four fingers deep into Stiles’ waiting cunt, drawing a high keen from his mate as his eyes screwed shut once more, as well as a fresh gush of slick. It was as euphoric to Stiles as was the immediate feeling of almost grieving when it abruptly stopped, those skilled digits drawing away with the rest of the reassuring weight atop him, prompting him to open his eyes once more.

And what he saw nearly made him cum right then and there.

As far gone as he could have been between wolf and man, fully transformed into a proper, powerful werewolf, Derek sat just beneath Stiles’ thighs, hips pressed flush against his round ass. And as breath-taking as Derek’s mere figure looked, partially silhouetted against the night from the window, lit only on one side, it was the one spot besides his eyes not covered in glossy black fur that really got to him.

His cock, of course. Resting directly upon the mound of Stiles’ cunt, brushing against his own pale prick that seemed even more embarrassing in comparison to its truly massive, unwieldy, God-like size. It really was red, a bright red that almost seemed to glow in the dim light, covered in thick, twitching veins, so shiny with semi-white cum it looked soaking wet, probably just as much as Stiles’ hole pulsing at the mere sight of such an intimidating monster of a cock.

He wanted it inside of him immediately.

It seemed that, for once, Derek agreed with Stiles’ impatience. Another reason to warm up to this new werewolf form of him, Stiles thought before all those thoughts quickly flew right out of his head, as a wave of pleasure struck him from Derek deciding to start frotting his massive cock against his own.

Now, his mate was truly unpredictable. Not only did he have more the mind of a beast than a man, but he could hardly speak, only grunts of _mate, Stiles, breed,_ as well as a litany of curses and insults strewn together nonsensically with compliments. Stiles did miss the more complex sentences Derek could form, simply because he loved how creative some of his slut-shaming kinky dirty-talking could get, but he found a growly bite of, **_my_ ** _slut,_ pretty much sufficed.

For the moment, Derek seemed oddly content with sitting upright as his mate mewled beneath him, stuck on the pillows and blankets, twisting and turning with pleasure as a huge werewolf mitt wrapped around both of their sexes, pumping them in tandem as Stiles tried to beg, to tell him that he would cum if he kept fucking stroking him like that, oh God-

But this Derek didn’t care. Human Derek probably would’ve—hell, he _definitely_ would’ve—but a mindless werewolf? Hell no. He merely tilted his head back in his own selfish pleasure, stroking his gigantic cock and drinking in the sounds of pleasure from _his_ mate, clearly wanting to enjoy the edging act of foreplay for as long as he damn wanted. He was the alpha, Stiles merely the omega made to take what he was given, receive, get fucked, breed and give birth only to do it all over again.

Stiles was nearly crying with pleasure as he pleaded all for naught, as his first orgasm of the night came just from Derek’s unforgiving hand, smearing white across black fur only to be massaged further into his red cock. The werewolf remained uncaring even as Stiles’ screams of pleasure turned to recovering huffs turned to screams of _dis_ pleasure, utterly overstimulated as that tight grip remained despite all his useless thrashing.

But, finally, right in the middle of another _omega whore_ or something similar spilling from Derek’s muzzle, he caught the scent of it.

All that slick from Stiles’ first orgasm, fresh and as plentiful as a practical flood as it soaked into his crotch and thighs, wafted straight into Derek’s powerful, twitching nose. Stiles watched with relieved eyes as Derek’s maw parted to reveal a wicked mouth of razor sharp fangs and a long, lolling tongue, and then his eyes flew wide open. He tried with a late hand to stop his mate, mouth spewing some garbled gibberish about holding on a second, but Derek’s superhuman reaction time was unbeatable.

At first, things were manageable, as Derek’s hungry mouth started first at Stiles’ limp cocklet to suck it dry of its thin seed. Well, it still made Stiles whine and his eyes roll into the back of his skull, but it was still manageable.

Derek followed the trail of scarce semen all the way up to Stiles’ belly, which he seemed to remember the newfound properties of, what with the way he slathered it with long laps as much as he pressed gentle kisses to it, growling slightly sweeter, but still incredibly possessive words to his mate.

But soon enough, Derek returned back to the more pressing issues at hand. Namely, the cunt that seemed to be calling his name, what with its smell so compatible it must have been literally made for him. His golden eyes fell upon it as though for the first time, which it very well might have been, for his neglected alter ego. His tongue drooled like a starving predator to fresh meat dangled directly in front of it, as he just stared at the twitching cunt practically begging to be manhandled, fucked full of fingers and cock and cum.

And, of course, a tongue.

Stiles watched with bated breath as Derek’s head dipped down, barely recognizable anymore with his head like it had been torn straight from a real wolf’s and plopped right onto his more humanoid torso, all muzzle and canine and those flashy yellow eyes. Still, somehow his handsomeness and that intense expression he got while he was fucking him remained, and even as an almost unbelievably long tongue unravelled from his huge maw to pant just over Stiles’ pink cunt with the most teasing, hot breath directly between his legs, Stiles still knew that it really was Derek still in there, at the heart and soul of it all.

But then that face actually met his cunt, and he wondered if maybe he’d made a mistake in this all after all, and Derek really wasn’t himself anymore.

Because it was just something about the way that that hungry mouth worked on his pussy, in a way just like all the other tens of times Derek had delighted in this exact thing—one of his favourite things to do in general nowadays, let alone with Stiles, let alone in bed—the same fervour to please and yet obvious desire in doing it all for himself, for the taste of it, the pride in squeezing orgasm after crying orgasm from his mate.

But in many other ways, it was totally fucking different. Because now, now Derek had this _tongue,_ and you wouldn’t think it would be all that different to have what’s essentially just a lot longer, slightly thicker version of a human tongue lapping over your cock before diving straight into your still-orgasming pussy, but you’d be dead fucking wrong.

In reality, it was so damn good that Stiles threw his head back with the rest of his fucking body, clawing backwards at the sheets as his body went all sorts of weird angles, drowning in so much pleasure he literally choked on it, not even to moan or scream as he was left silent, gasping in ecstasy all centred directly from his pussy.

That wickedly dextrous tongue made easy work of the flexing muscles of his cunt, shoving itself a quarter, then half, then entirely inside of him, threatening to make Stiles cum already as his stupidly short refractory period was already up. It licked every inch of his pussy, inside and out, thrusting and lapping and licking at whatever it could get at, just cleaning and slurping and eating him right up in a disgusting but wholly satisfying display of filthy sex.

When he was outside of him, Derek ran his tongue all the way from either of his swollen pussy lips to up his cocklet, taking him entirely in his mouth and using that damn organ more like a tentacle with the way it wrapped around his prick and made him scream. Then he’d move downward to drink up the flow of slick which had no doubt squirted from that mere act, roaming all the way down Stiles’ milky thighs to his ass, all the way to the covers before teasing back up to circle around the other hole they’d experimented with a few times—although, the cunt was almost always preferred, if possible.

All that drove Stiles mad already, but it was somehow a million times worse when Derek would reinsert himself into his aching cunt, filling that emptiness perfectly with that large, flexible organ. In some ways it was even better than a cock, as it had the benefit of being able to bend, move at will. Gliding itself up and down his shivering walls, pushing as hard as the strong muscles at the base of his tongue could manage just to test the extreme elasticity of Stiles’ walls. Torture his slutty little mate and make him cry out as he purposefully pushed on his G-spot, only to slip out to mouth with his lips again at the very entrance of his greedy pussy.

But in every other regard, it paled in comparison to the real, solid, life-giving organ that Stiles and his omega so desperately craved. As much as he loved Derek and his wolfish appetite, that skilled tongue and those hands that dipped inside along with it like a bear digging for honey, enough to draw countless orgasms from him in such rapid succession it made him dizzy as well as breathless, legs wrapping around his head as though crushing him more to hold on than anything else-

He wanted his cock.

That real, hard, aching thing dangling between Derek’s legs, the one that he could see his alpha rutting against the bedspread nearly just as desperately as he ate at his mate’s poor, overstimulated pussy. So determined was Stiles that he somehow, miraculously, managed through his moans and near-constant climaxes to beg and bargain with the werewolf to please, oh please, use that massive, aching cock right where Stiles needed it most.

“B-b-because, y-you want it-ah, _fuck, Derek! C-cumming a-again! Ah, ah… y-you want it just as much as m-me, right?”_

He tried to grin although he was drooling so much it was humiliating, not even bothering to try to clean himself up for he knew how fucked and messy he would look regardless from how undone Derek was making him. “I-I can see you, y-your throbbing hard cock you’re gr-grinding against the f-fucking bed, wasting your se-semen on it instead of in m-my pussy, s-so big and red and fucking amazing, _I-ah-I want it inside me, p-please, Alpha!”_

Finally, that seemed to get through to the frenzied werewolf, as he looked up from a slobbered cunt with chops wet and a wide, toothy grin on his face, eyes zeroed right in on Stiles.

Stiles had about a tenth of a second to steel himself, and then there was the full, unadulterated weight of a massive male, alpha werewolf pressing him into the bed, teeth grazing the mating mark on his neck as all the words Derek must have been thinking as his mouth was busy spilled readily out.

_“Fucking slut, you want it?”_ he huffed, simple and curt, but all that Stiles needed to be driven mad with want, so close to his goal he’d been chasing for so many weeks now, nodding and sobbing into his mate’s furred, hardened abs. _“Mm, fill you full of my cock, my cum, till you’re massive, screaming, begging me to stop… my little Omega whore.”_

If Stiles were in a logical state of mind at all, perhaps those words should have been sobering, a sure sign to stop, or at least pause and really think about what the fuck he was doing, about to be fucked by a werewolf with absolutely nothing to defend himself or rouse Derek from his state of mind if things really took a turn for the worse.

But then there was a cock thrust between his legs, so painfully hard and jumping as if it were alive against his thighs, begging as much as Stiles was to just get the fuck inside of him already.

And the moment Derek finally lowered his hips enough to grace his cock between Stiles’ fat pussy lips, sliding all the way between them to nestle itself right against the entrance of his violently convulsing, soaking cunt, Stiles knew that there was no going back, and even if there was, he would really prefer his inevitable death over not having this massive werewolf cock inside of him right the fuck now.

And as Derek slowly seated himself inside of him, grunting as Stiles moaned with pure bliss as his eyes rolled back all over again, the tip of his weeping cock slit parting the tight circle of his pussy to make room for it, it was like his virginity being stolen all over again.

Gladly.

Because to have lived a life without this massive werewolf cock slowly filling every last bit of his pussy he’d never realized was so painfully empty until the very second it was stuffed absolutely full, it would be a life, yes, but an awfully dull one.

And once that red, giant cock the size of half of Stiles’ forearm sat fully inside of him—warm, solid, throbbing cock flesh safely within tight, wet, twitching velvet—Stiles genuinely accepted what could very well be his death, once Derek decided to start moving again. Because that was it, that was as good as anything was ever going to feel, he could actually die a very happy and satisfied man at all of eighteen just with that blessed cock.

But Derek didn’t kill him. Instead, he just came about as close as one could without causing serious permanent damage.

Because once Derek started pulling out, meaty inch after toe-curling inch, and then thrusting back inside, Stiles realized quickly that he had made a horrible mistake, after all.

Because all this time, all those holds tight enough to leave light bruises across Stiles’ hips, thighs, arms; the licking rough enough to leave his pussy an impressively irritated red, all swollen and sensitive; nails and fangs threatening to dig into his supple flesh when Stiles knew just one slip of a finger, and that could very well be life-threatening blood loss right there-

All of that had been Derek treating him _so fucking gently._

Only as he took his place rightfully back, full in Stiles’ wet cunt, with a thrust hard enough to slap against Stiles’ plush ass almost as loud as a hand right across it, somehow winding him in the process as the entire bed slammed against the back wall with the sheer force of Derek’s fuck, was Derek’s full werewolf strength revealed.

And with another wolfish grin directed at him, Stiles knew he was in for the night of his fucking life.

And so, he fucking was.

That mind-blowing, bright red, girthy shaft might as well have been sucking him dry, because it managed to squeeze orgasm after orgasm after crying orgasm from him in the following minutes, or, perhaps, hours of that full moon’d night. Stiles could somehow feel every angle, every twitch, every vein upon its well-textured surface, thrusting blindingly fast in and out of his cunt and always managing to hit him and all his sensitive spots in just the right ways.

The cock itself was amazing, so massive and weird and constantly leaking its own thick pre-cum that only made the sex that much more enjoyable. Easily the biggest thing that Stiles had taken inside of him, almost twice the size of Derek’s human cock, and as mentioned before, Derek’s cock had been quite comparable to any decent pornstar’s cock, so the werewolf version… Let’s just say some over-sized fantasy dildos would be fucking jealous.

But it wasn’t just his cock, as lovely as that was. It was also the way Derek used it, every twist and turn of his hips just to his mate’s exact preferences, as learned over months of being together and fucking nearly every day, numerous times a day.

He pounded into his mate relentlessly, probably hard enough to bruise his hips and ass and anywhere else Derek’s hands decided to roam for some extra purchase, and definitely hard enough to make it so Stiles would have trouble sitting for entire fucking days after all this was said and done.

But oh God, it was just too good. Watching his mate moan and scream beneath him, driven mad with lust by his fucking cock, looking down between them to watch his glistening red shaft impossibly destroying that tiny, innocent hole waiting before it. It just felt _right,_ taking his mate like this, using him as he wanted with little to no regard for his safety or own desires as he just took, took, _took-_

But eventually, it started to get to Derek, too. For he was still mortal, somewhere down in there, and as his simplistic comments became even filthier and strangely more focused on breeding and pups than anything else, grunts becoming breathier and thrusts choppier, Stiles nearly sighed in relief that it was almost over. But then he felt a ball even impossibly larger growing at the base of Derek’s cock and remembered what the hell a knot was.

But finally, the heavy black wolf above him let loose a few heavy panting breaths into Stiles’ ear, rising up onto his knees and taking the rest of Stiles’ lower half with it as he fucked him with improved leverage from the heightened position, drilling into his cunt with his massive knot slapping against his cunt, all in one final effort to get deeper, deeper, even fucking deeper inside of his already pregnant mate.

And then Stiles watched through slitted, tear-filled eyes as Derek raised his wolven head up and back, and let out a clear, unmistakable howl, just as he sunk his knot the size of two entire fists inside of Stiles’ already achingly stretched cunt, thrusting so hard forward the bed frame lurched directly into the wall behind it, a great gash of dry wall and plaster being revealed as it crumbled under the superhuman force.

But neither of them had much of a mind to care about that in the moment, as Stiles orgasmed and orgasmed in a seemingly constant flow on the massive knot now pumping him full of thick werewolf cum, pinned beneath his wonderfully selfish mate with legs tied tight to crush himself even further.

They stayed there what felt like a very long time, at least an hour, perhaps many more. All Stiles remembers is that the bliss was like being stuck between two worlds, one of intense orgasm, the other of that glowy after-sex, like the best of both worlds as he was struck with a never-ending flow of pleasure, yet it never seemed too much, somehow.

And by the end of that indefinite amount of time, Stiles looked down with a body finally sated enough to allow the feeling of sleepiness to begin to overcome him, to see that he looked, completely and utterly, fucking pregnant.

Like, not just barely showing, like he really was. Not just a tiny bump that would have to be pointed out and felt extensively to notice, but like a massive, watermelon-sized—no, like two or three fucking watermelons—swell right at his abdomen, where his womb would somehow distend enough to occupy as it dutifully formed the pups within.

That entire baby bump, made up 99% from the ejaculate Derek had produced and/or stored… somewhere in his body.

“H… how is that fucking _possible?”_ Stiles asked to his mate, who he glanced over to notice only now was definitely way more human than he was the last time he’d looked.

A still-not-quite human but less furry Derek responded, “I don’t know. Werewolf powers.”

Not quite good enough for Stiles, but oh well. “What about the bump? I mean, the actual one?”

“What about it?” Derek asked, shuffling forward slightly to brush hair from Stiles’ face, although they were both unable to go much of anywhere at all, still connected and everything.

“I mean, I’m only, like, eight weeks along. Shouldn’t it start showing at twelve weeks at the earliest? It just seems a little… early.”

“Oh, Stiles,” Derek tutted, grinning drunkenly at his mate as he shook his head into the pillow. “Don’t you know by now? Everything’s so much bigger with werewolves. And more, too.”

Stiles blinked. Then his eyes went wide. And then they went even wider. And wider.

Because, oh God… if this was how it was now, then how would it be near the end of his pregnancy?

Scratch that, how would it be when he had to give birth to these freaking things?!

_Oh God, oh God in hell, oh fuc-_

“Stiles,” a stern voice grounded him right back to reality, fingers softly cupping his jaw as an even more familiar Derek looked back, “I know what you’re thinking, baby. But first, let’s worry about fixing up this wall so we get our down payment, hm?”

Stiles glanced up to the massive hole in the back wall, then back to Derek, and then sighed, closing his eyes as he nuzzled into his mate’s still-solid body.

“Yeah… you’re right.”

Derek smiled peacefully, settling himself into his smaller mate even as his knot kept them still locked together, still pumping a smaller but steady stream of sperm into his omega even drifting off to sleep.

“But we’re totally… having werewolf sex again… don’t forget it,” Stiles murmured.

Derek chuckled, petting Stiles’ sore arm with a gentle caress. “Yes, Dear.”

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	18. Wish Granted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
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> Heyyo! Another week~, another chapter! Hehe >< But this one’s pretty sexy, so hopefully you guys’ll like it, I sure did! :D In case you forgot, in chapter 14, I alluded that they would try some oral knotting in the unspecified future, so… ;)

For the next month or two, a typical day went something like this:

Derek would wake promptly at seven, a couple hours earlier than work began, to get a fresh start on the day with some breakfast, exercise, etc. Even on weekends, it was the same, just as it was almost always the same that he was still connected with his mate from the night before.

Sometimes Stiles would stir, still sleepy so half the time it was merely semi-conscious mewling and movement, but the other half, he somehow actually did manage to wake up, in the end. And then it was almost a sure thing that Derek’s morning exercise routine would be substituted for a quick romp in bed—not that he, nor his mate, were complaining.

As well, sometimes a considerable amount of his appetite was seemingly magically sated by the time they finally made it to the kitchen, although the specific details of that might as well be left up to the imagination.

But eventually, on any good work day, Derek would part for that exact duty. Stiles accepted it as gracefully as he could, besides, he knew the income Derek was already generating just from the mostly entry position in his business job was already far more than Stiles could have made the entire month, and it was good being away from his mate, for a third of the day, five days a week. The weekends and hours after more than made up for the absence, as his sore hips and ass could atest.

In the meantime, sometimes a job or a good Samaritan act could keep Stiles busy, more or less. Repainting rooms certainly kept his short attention span much less than droves of kids with even shorter ones themselves.

But in those lulls, where he could only sit and watch the paint as it dried, or space out on an old rerun as all the youngsters were already fast asleep across the other couches, Stiles’ mind wandered. As it was prone to do, as it had done thousands of times before in all his years of life, ever since he first could have remembered.

But now, now his flighty wonderings began to take on a darker hue. Although he knew that, in just a few hours, he would be back safe in Derek’s arms, getting his ear or his neck nibbled as he was muttered sweet, sweet nothings to, compliments of what a heavenly, motherly creature he was to contrast with the slew of insults Stiles enjoyed just as much in the coming minutes—emphasis on _coming,_ for sure—there was something always at the back of his mind, always there, always bugging him, ever since they’d returned to Beacon Hills.

It had been ignorable when there were other things to occupy him and his life, be it in the shape of shape-shifters or Derek’s shape-shifting in specifics. But now that that was all mostly sorted, the lethal threats showing no signs for months now, and every other night ending in a werewolf ranging anywhere from halfway transformed to full-on destroy-his-cunt-so-he-could-barely-walk-the-next-day, that meant that those problems were over and done with. Solved, with a neat little bow on top and everything.

Stiles was happy, yes. Content, for sure. But that was just the problem.

For the folly of man, it seems, is to always want for more. No matter how high the hurdle or immense the obstacle, if one manages to overcome it somehow, eventually, then it shall simply become a memory in their mind. And as that memory ages and blurs, like an old memento being shoved into the closet to collect dust, only to be revisited every now and again, that man shall find themselves slowly but surely forgetting the reality of just how incredible it was to do what they had done, as in the permanence of history it deludes one into believing it could never have gone another way.

And so, forgetting entirely all the trials and tribulations of before, Stiles’ resting mind created yet another problem to solve, to keep him busy more than anything else.

And as he would recline in an armchair back at home, trying to find some comfort in entertainment or some small hobby or task, when Derek was supposed to be let off work an hour, or two, or three ago, those times, well…

They were the worst.

He knew it was probably nothing. The better half of him, the more logical side, reminded him that all his worries about Derek had been proven wrong… for the most part.

Sure, did he expect Derek to technically be an arsonist, and a murderer? No, but one could just as easily say that he was a victim, at a vulnerable time in his young adult life who got sucked into a gang that killed with far less guilt and remorse than he ever would.

But still… it was technicalities like that that really got his gears grinding in his little head, pursing his lips to the side as he stared out the darkness of the window, wondering why Derek would lie to him when he’d called one of his co-workers—already something of a mutual friend—only to discover that no, Derek hadn’t stayed after, and that he hardly did, why? Was something wrong?

Oh, yes, Stiles thought. But also, oh, no. Because surely, definitely, obviously there was nothing wrong. Just typical newly-steady issues, ones that had a perfectly reasonable explanation behind them that would make him feel silly for ever even thinking about all of this.

And, sure enough, Derek would return, however long after he was supposed to. But just as with every other thought Stiles could have possibly conceived, it was all pushed right out of his head as he was swept right off of his feet, and, after some dinner, most likely, into the bedroom.

He’d get his brains fucked out along with an unholy amount of slick and cum, and in a blissed-out state, return to slumber, knowing all of this would surely repeat come the very next day.

But, slowly, as the days wore on and the pattern of his mate’s mysterious absences and avoidant looks at even the slightest hint towards his odd behaviour, it wore Stiles down, as well. And his smiles as he nuzzled against Derek’s chest with a warm sigh became tainted by the imperceptible twitch of his lip, the rogue thought that had him questioning things again, a note of distress in his pheromones that his alpha mistook merely as him being cold or something else inane.

And so, no matter how Stiles wanted to ignore it, no matter how much he’d like to stay in wonderland with his perfect pregnancy and his perfect mate, he knew he simply couldn’t.

And so, when the stars aligned on one cool but comfortable Friday night beginning to show the promise of an upcoming spring, as Stiles found himself utterly free from any duties or major chores, and his mind, body, and soul restless just as the clocks showed half an hour before Derek’s shift ended, Stiles felt he had no other option than to take the opportunity.

As he moved about the house, he felt oddly unlike himself, and yet perfectly human, all at the same time. Like a spectre, or perhaps a mere spectator, as he flitted about the rooms searching for things and preparing for a little walk outside.

Only, even as he quickly combed through his hair and changed his sweatpants for proper jeans, kicking on his shoes just as he zipped up a heavy jacket, he knew it wasn’t going to be like any of the walks he normally took, with or without his mate. No little trips around the neighbourhood, nor into town, nothing like that.

He was going all the way to Derek’s workplace, he had thought with such determination as he stepped onto the porch and locked the door to the condo behind himself.

Because this wasn’t just a sudden impulse decision, oh no. He’d carefully thought about this and planned it all out in his head, whether he’d liked it or not, he always found himself ironing out the kinks as he stared off into space, as he seemed to do more and more as of late.

He knew the exact route he’d have to travel to get there on foot, knew that going by the safest streets and along the curving interstate with a sidewalk between the hills, that it would take about an hour on foot. The office was somewhat out of the way from the town, after all, from Derek’s description closer to the isolation of nature and forests than human civilization.

But, an hour, you might ask? Wouldn’t he be too late to see his mate getting off of work to see where he was _actually_ going, considering it was just half an hour until he was off, just as the sun was starting to set on its early, blazing demise across the heavens?

Why, yes, you would be.

But then that’s where Stiles’ old mountain bike comes in handy.

Old and trusty all the way back from the earliest days of high school, it had fallen out of use for the most part, but it was a trusty thing, whether for the lax stroll or the blistering trail, as was probably more the pace this time. Only a little rusty on the paint and otherwise black as the night, it blended in well as he began racing across the darkening streets with no time for hellos and barely enough time for a wave and a smile.

He was on a mission, a sure fire one, his brain reminding him automatically of all those annoying thoughts that had distracted him from enjoying life, made him question what should otherwise be perfectly good, kept him from a peaceful slumber next to his ever tight-lipped mate.

And even as he braved the cold, rushing air of the evening, he honestly couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at Derek. Maybe it was simple hormones from his stupid second sex, or maybe it was puppy love blinding him or something else equally naive, but he likes to think now that it was just because he always knew, in his heart of hearts at least, that Derek never would betray him. Nor do anything to hurt him, no, this all had to be some sort of misunderstanding…

But _why?_ Why would Derek have any reason to stay away from him late into the nights, even slipping away occasionally on the weekends? Was he already having secretive drinks with friends? Didn’t that normally wait until at least a few weeks into a child-bound marriage? Ugh.

Stiles really hadn’t the slightest clue, and as said before, Stiles was the kind so curious as to sooner get himself killed than leave a stone unturned, as his friends and his werewolf boyfriend could vouch for.

Perhaps it was his constant nerves that pushed him on, or maybe the adrenaline, but either way, the minutes flew by just as any discomfort from the perpetual exertion of motion, as he powered his bike onwards, ignoring as the well-lit streets he grew up on turned to steadily more unfamiliar, sparser lit ones. All the way until he hit the interstate, where rarely a car would pass, dim headlights ignoring him alike.

The winding, somewhat scenic road led him all the way to the staunch grey building that was the place Derek had taken up work, and as Stiles stopped a few good yards from it, catching his breath from a sudden burst of energy he hadn’t experienced in quite a while now, he slipped his phone from its deep chamber in his front pocket—yep, still there, thankfully—to check the time.

Seven o’clock. Right on time.

He put his phone away, straddling the seat of the bike as he huffed and puffed, waiting.

The doors opened and out came faces, familiar but mostly unfamiliar, bobbing as they went here and there to their cars in the little parking lot. Stiles backpedalled quietly into the trees and brush right next to the road, peeking around the stump of a tree as he watched the employees drive off in all sorts of directions to towns or cities nearer or further than Beacon Hills.

At last, but one car remained, and from the distance, Stiles could just barely make out the make and model of the vehicle that normally sat in the driveway of their condo, at peace. He pursed his lips, furrowed his brow slightly, wondering truly if he’d made a huge mistake, and Derek really did just stay long hours and that was how he got his raises or something…

But then the back door of the building opened, and out came the most handsome, statuesque, stern-faced man of the entire world, let alone that singular company. Even if Stiles had been a beta, unable to scent the obvious smell of alpha that seemed to carry on the wind all the way to him—thankfully not blowing the other way, or else he’d likely to be busted already—he probably would have discovered it anyway just by looking at him, a similar gasp as he couldn’t help but squeak out then at the mere sight of his mate in a situation as he’d never seen him before.

Of course, most of Stiles’ surprise came from the fact that he didn’t usually stalk and spy on Derek right after work, or any other time, obviously. But still, it was something of a heart-warming reminder to see him in such a light, as his guard was down and he thought nobody was around, nobody watching him, for once.

Stiles felt the guilt just as Derek got into the car, starting it up right away, realizing just how creepy what he was doing would’ve seemed to him, or anyone in their right mind, really… God, he shouldn’t have done this, Derek would probably just head right home and then how in the world would he come up with some awkward bullshit lie as to where he’d been? 

Ugh, and now he’d gone so far as to hide in the literal bushes like an actual peeping pervert, just how fucked was he, honestly-

When he was finally done ruminating in his self-deprecating thoughts, Stiles came back to reality with a gasp, his eyes seeing without thinking as all his carefully taught emotions were flooded out, replaced by feelings so intrinsic even the most basal of animals knew them well.

For the car didn’t go back the way Stiles had come, no, it took that intersection and went right the opposite way. Further into the heart of the giant, complex expanse that was California, away from the easy-going small town such as his home.

It was undeniable, now.

It was that emotion, the heat of anger and shame and feeling even stupider for believing that everything somehow could have miraculously worked out fine on this one night, that led Stiles to focus his gaze with a deadly precision on the car now speeding away from his home— _their_ home, and follow it all the way down the street.

It was impossible, of course. Always would be, to anyone besides maybe the werewolf he was now chasing in his fully-decked car, with a mechanical engine and everything. It just wasn’t fair, to compare the measly muscle that were his human legs—already not in the most athletic condition, sure—but still.

He raced on as best he could, anyway, even as the family car became smaller and smaller, gaining distance on him at a rapid pace. His foolhardy inner monologue was just about to break, his legs aching so much he was just a minute or two from most likely calling it quits, when suddenly the car slowed down.

He thought he’d been found, futilely trying to steer off into the bushes again, when he realized Derek was merely making a right-hand turn off of the interstate, and onto some hidden road into the forest Stiles was also tucking into.

In a split-second decision perhaps somewhat ill-advised for all the weeds and needles strewn about forests like these, in an effort to take a shortcut and perhaps make up some lost time, Stiles took the opportunity to use the off-road capabilities of his own ride and make a bee-line for Derek’s car right through those damn woods.

Being still barely winter and all, it was already becoming quickly dark as the sun set on the horizon, so in the woods as that already scarce sunlight filtered through dense leaves and branches, it was even fucking darker. Thankfully, Stiles had thought long ago, when he and his friends ventured out in to the creepy woods sometimes in the weird funny act that certain teenagers like to do, to buy a headlight for the bike.

And so he turned it on, barely spied the bleeding white of the headlights from the car moving slower on a dirt road so rudely inserted in the middle of flora and fauna, and tried his best to intercept it.

Now this was a much more comparable pace, he thought, as the bike bumped and tilted amongst the mess of roots and thicket, but nonetheless was quite laudable at its ability to weave around massive pine trunks, crushing anything that dared to unfortunately lay in its path.

He wasn’t quite catching up to Derek, but he certainly wasn’t losing ground now, either. And soon, after only a couple minutes of strenuous biking, he found himself riding pretty much parallel to Derek’s trajectory, only he had the advantage of being hidden amongst the trees, downwind.

Thankfully, just as his lungs or his heart or legs or some other equally important body part was just about to give out from exhaustion, the car slowed once again. At first, Stiles wasn’t sure why, but as he himself slowed his pace to not make himself obvious to the were by crashing through the brambles, his night-adjusted eyes could just make out what seemed to be a small but noticeable clearing in the wildlife, only the dark green of lush grass growing there for whatever reason.

He came to a stop what he felt a safe distance from Derek and the clearing, which was quite a ways away, so it was still quite difficult to see, but better safe than sorry when it came to a man who could literally hear a knife clatter to the floor in the middle of a noisy restaurant, he figured.

So then he just waited, as the temperature quickly plummeted to near freezing, doing his best to stay silent as he pulled his jacket tight around himself to blunt the wind hitting him square in the face. It wasn’t exactly enjoyable by any measure, staying out there, with swirling thoughts and feelings of betrayal and burning curiosity and some remnants of shame and guilt as well, so he was rather glad when he saw Derek open the driver-side door and step right out of it.

He was holding something in his hand, something large and heavy that hung down near his hip, but for the lack of direct light and the distance between them, Stiles couldn’t decipher much more from the blurry silhouette his eyes got. Another tempting time where the thought of werewolf powers almost seemed worth it…

But alas, his weak human eyes followed regardless through the dark, spotting the motion easy enough of Derek’s hulking form marching forward through that clearing, in front of his car parked between where the packed dirt of the hapdash road ended and the grass began, and disappearing right behind the vehicle, breaking Stiles’ line of sight.

Stiles silently cursed whatever forces could have brought these unfortunate circumstances about, but quickly stopped rolling his eyes when they focused right back upon something large just behind the shutdown vehicle, something which he almost questioned how he’d missed in the first place, until he realized just how dark everything was quickly becoming, blending into one inky, unnerving hue.

It was hard to make out against the moonless vault of the dusky sky, but he swore he could make out the unmistakable angles of a triangle pointing upward, fitted beneath it a shape that, while pushed and pulled out here and there, strongly resembled a rectangle.

And just as a glow from one of the previously invisible panes of glass seeped out and onto the field, that’s when Stiles finally got it.

“Our house!” Mandy interjects, and Stiles just smiles and nods.

“Of course, I didn’t really realize it at the time, but yes, sweetie. The same house I’d spend nearly two decades in, all the way till now. Of course, there’s quite a few more bedrooms than initially planned, but that’s just all part of the extended story, isn’t it? Now where was I…”

Yes, a house. In the middle of the woods. That Derek had driven not too far from work to get to.

And that he was now apparently walking around inside of, doing _God knows what with who-_

Stiles tossed his beloved bike to the ground and balls his fists as he sprinted towards the front door.

His mind was racing, and yet empty, an odd blank spot between that moment of realization and then the next where he was upon the doorstep to this large log cabin, acting without thinking at all as his hand twisted the knob to open it or pull it off its fucking hinges, he didn’t care at that point, as hot tears made everything even harder to see in the dead of night.

But instead of slamming the door open to find his alpha hanging over another omega, or collecting corpses or God knows what, Stiles found the door slowly and gently gave inward all on its own, surprising him enough that his arm couldn’t even move to push it further.

For some reason, in the split second of confusion that took over his rage and sorrow, leaving him feeling like he was emotionally suspended in a vacuum, his mind went immediately to magic. After all, there were apparently werewolves in this world, however rare enough that Derek had never met one on his journey all across the states, so why couldn’t there be animate doors, as well?

But no, the answer was much simpler, after all.

And even as a pair of arms wrapped around him to capture him in an embrace he must have felt at least a thousand times before, he was still in that state of shock, of disbelief, of nothing at all.

“Surprise,” Derek said, against the mess of his hair, blown every which way from the wind.

Stiles finally blinked, just beginning to come to, as he looked over Derek’s shoulder to see the fireplace whose crackling was the lone sound in the otherwise quiet of the room, other than the now howling wind outside. He blinked again, and found his gaze pinned upon what looked to be that thing that Derek had taken from his car, and saw it clearly for what it really was:

A toolbox. Nothing more, nothing less. Wrenches and mallets and small handsaws and the like.

He blinked one more time, and muttered, muffled, against Derek’s shirt, “You built this cabin, didn’t you?”

He felt almost more than heard the rumbling of Derek’s laugh, as though it were filling him entirely with warmth just as the fireplace was, “Well, it’s still sort of in the process of being built, actually, but sure.”

Stiles took a step back, finding his rear pressed to the door that was now firmly shut against the elements, shaking his head slightly as he refocused on Derek now fully facing him. “No, I-I thought, I really thought, th-that, you- you were-”

“I know,” Derek said into his fist, solemn as he looked to the floor before raising back to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry, for whatever you might have thought, or felt. I guess I should have expected that you would find out like this, but I don’t know, call it wishful thinking maybe…”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles asked, squinting an eye as he tilted his head, but realized only halfway through hanging his jacket up on the wall of coat hooks just how comfortable he already was here, alone with his mate, his scent the only thing he could smell…

“Remember,” Derek began, tracing a path to the right where the fire place was centred in a living space, a long hallway revealed behind him lining up directly with the entryway, although Stiles shook his curiosity in preference to follow Derek to a couch and listen as he continued, “when we first arrived to Beacon Hills? How we talked about me having to get a job, and everything?”

“Sure,” Stiles offered, although still eyeing his mate somewhat warily as to where this was all heading, “and congratulations, again, but uh, what about it?”

“Remember the only other thing we wanted to establish, before we could have everything we really wanted, in this perfect little town?”

Stiles tapped his finger unconsciously to his lips, before realizing it with a single breath, “A house.”

Derek nodded, seeming proud, although whether for the obvious conclusion or something else, Stiles wasn’t sure. “Well,” he clapped his hands together, laughing quietly to himself as he slowly shook his head, “your dad actually came up with the idea. Or, I thought of a cabin in the woods, but he thought of building it ourselves, so who knows who really thought of it first. Either way, it was a team effort.”

Stiles sputtered, bewildered, “B-but I talked to my dad, and he told me you were just staying late at work-”

Derek flashed a fang-filled smirk to his poor little omega left in the dark, “When I say ‘team effort’, I don’t just mean building the cabin itself. I mean, that is a lot of work, for sure, but we don’t have to do it all alone, most of the furniture and more technical things,” he motioned vaguely to the fireplace, “were handled by the paid professionals. But another part of our team effort was to try to make sure you didn’t find out what we were doing.”

“Why?” Stiles blurted.

Derek huffed a laugh, “What, I thought you liked surprises, Stiles.”

Stiles shifted to face the centre of the couch, which he realized with widening eyes _he himself_ had actually picked out, from what had seemed an innocuous question between two pictures online, but was obviously much more, before huffing, crossing his arms in apparent fury, “I mean, sure I do. But maybe not when it means that I think my partner is either cheating on me or being a serial killer or something!

“I was really, genuinely worried about you, Derek,” Stiles continued, softening his tone as well as his expression, “I was worried about… us. So why couldn’t you have at least given me a hint, that it was just a surprise you wanted to wait to show me?”

Derek smiled back to him, but shook his head once more. “Oh, Stiles. You of all people should know that if you’re given an inch, you’ll take a mile,” he laughed, winking as Stiles’ face flushed with more than just plain old heat. “Besides, you should blame your dad, more than anything. He convinced me that if I said anything more than ‘it’s just work’, you’d get nosy and just have to get the bottom of it.

“But ah,” he leaned his head back on the sofa, rolling his eyes knowingly over to his mate, “looks like even just saying it was ‘work’ was clearly too much already, hm?”

Stiles smirked himself this time, uncrossing his arms to press on the couch cushion and support him in leaning forward playfully towards his alpha. “I don’t know whether to be grateful for you building me our own house, or angry for all the shit you’ve put me through to get there.”

Derek raised a brow provocative as he replied, “Well, if you’d investigated just a few days ago, there still would’ve been an awful draft, what with the walls not being fully sealed yet. So maybe you should be happy with your excellent timing, if nothing else.”

“So long as you finally let me help in making the place I might very well be living the rest of my damn life, stupid alpha,” Stiles teased, snickering as he met the ends of their noses and glaring intensely into Derek’s eyes.

“So long as you let me break in every room of the house that we finish by fucking you in it,” Derek snarled, with an amount of vigour and dripping lust that was surprising even to Stiles, who was already obviously aroused, if his full scent and hardened nipples were anything to go by.

But still, the omega just couldn’t damn well help himself, it was obvious.

So he smiled, nodded, curled into Derek’s lap and said, “That sounds like a wonderful idea, darling.”

~~~

Now his daughter colours upon those previously white pages, the hues of the sunset almost doing just as well to fill them with vivid life.

Stiles just sighs, and reminisces briefly in the relative peace over a cup of tea.

_“Ah, fuck, g-gonna cum- a-again!”_ he cried out, doing just as promised all over his mate’s wolven muzzle, which only thrusted its salivating tongue even deeper inside of him as a reward.

Just like the night of his heat, he’d lost count of the times he’d orgasmed that night, already. But it was at least up in the dozens, what with starting in missionary on the couch, eventually rolling over to doing it the most humiliating, face-down-in-the-carpet doggy style upon the living room floor, over the coffee table, the few kitchen counters still in the middle of being installed, against probably every wall that the single but expansive finished room had to offer.

Mostly Derek fucked his cunt, as always happened. It was downright impressive, both what a brutal beating his tiny pussy could take from such an immense werewolf cock, and just how long and hard Derek could keep fucking him, if he really wanted to.

Perhaps it was the new house that drove them on, making them unable to be satisfied with only one or two hours of constant sex: the lack of their scents covering every square inch of the place, the knowledge that he hadn’t squirted on that board of the wooden floor—or that one.

Either way, it was disgusting and yet mind-blowingly heavenly, as that ungodly cock would one minute be drilling into his cunt with such a pulsing knot he was sure Derek would finally bust his nut, only for the impetuous werewolf to suddenly growl, push his tits further into the rug, and suddenly he was being sodomized once more.

All that only for Stiles to cum one, two, countless more times as his hard cocklet spurted its small pearls of impotent jizz upon his chest—and still with an angrily throbbing knot pulsing between his furry legs—his alpha would lick his bottom clean once more, only to immediately dirty it once again with what would be a human’s entire load of pure pre-cum as he smeared his cock all over his ass.

It was amazing, to have their own little home, cosy and warm with its little fire still going, and yet isolated from the rest of society, allowing Stiles to moan and scream truly to his heart’s content without muffling it at all, and Derek to bark and howl as much as he wanted without questions from neighbours the following day about if they’d suddenly gotten a dog.

But, finally, once it seemed that his heavily panting, heaving ribcage of an amazing werewolf lover was close to the end of his rope, Stiles managed to get the scratching mutt off of his back and allow him to turn over.

The entire floor was covered in puddles of semen and thinner slick, all smelling delightful, in their opinions, mixed with the sinful scent of sweaty sex that only came after mating so desperately like this for hours. But without the delirium of a heat to allow him to forget the pesky aftermath, Stiles knew probably better than Derek at this point that they’d probably have to clean this up promptly the next morning, and thoroughly.

So, although it was more than extremely impressive—and oddly satisfying—to see how well they’d inseminated every surface and left every piece of furniture not bolted down in utter disarray from their wild sex, Stiles knew that it would probably be best to at least contain the messiest part of the evening.

The messiest part being Derek’s physically impossible load from his massive red cock, of course, and the container being Stiles’ mouth.

Because as well as his cunt and Derek’s knot worked together at ensuring all that virile semen stayed trapped safely inside of his already taken womb, once that knot slowly but steadily deflated over the hours that they slept or waited it out…

Well, let’s just say the mattress was covered in at least three layers of sheets _and_ a bed protector for a reason.

So, instead, Stiles took his rightful place between Derek’s legs, head pressed between his furred thighs and the wall behind him, just as he had envisioned.

But it seemed even in his feral form, Derek had some level of intelligence and reasoning still in him, for even he saw the potential stupidity in Stiles’ depraved plan, cocking a jagged brow. But Stiles merely smiled up to his towering, gold-eyed mate, swirling his fingers through the soft fur of his legs, and opened his mouth to accept the tip of the red rocket covered in his own slick and cum.

It tasted so good his eyes rolled back in his skull, and he swore he could have cum right then and there, even though his pussy was left absolutely forgotten, only to grind against the frictionless floor, for he didn’t dare touch himself for Derek’s potential possessive reaction—not even he himself could lay hands on his omega.

He’d had the pleasure of handling Derek’s engorged cock in his were state plenty of times, of course. Felt the juicy weight of it in his palms as he ran both hands up and down its massive length, sometimes unable to help but press his tongue down against its slick surface to taste the salt of his thick pre-cum tracing the massive life-giving veins.

But, usually, a quick bob or two of head at most would be what Derek would accept before he just had to get his hands back on his mate’s precious cunt, and Stiles hadn’t quite been able to convince him to simply 69, as by the time he got in the right mind to think of such an obvious compromise, he was probably already knotted and half asleep.

So, this was the first time Stiles got a real, nice, prolonged taste of Derek’s thick, fully transformed cock. And how amazing it was. His human cock was already gorgeous—most of the many quick fucks they had in the morning Derek was still in touch with his humanity, and he thankfully got to suck on that plenty of times in the past weeks—but the werewolf one?

Stiles really wondered, as he steadily tried to take more and more of the massive length down his greedy throat, if his wish would even be possible. Perhaps he should have bitten the bullet, just allowed Derek in his human form to knot his mouth like they do in some of the more extreme pornos Stiles had seen. Because, just speaking realistically, to take the entire length of this thing up to that knot, let alone the entire massive, fist-sized knot itself? Physically fucking impossible.

But it seemed Derek disagreed as well, or perhaps just didn’t care anymore, for he grabbed a fistful of Stiles’ unruly locks for leverage and began thrusting hard into the cavernous mouth engulfing his near-climaxing cock. Stiles’ head was smashed between powerful thigh muscles and the hard surface of drywall behind him, but it only turned him on even more, as the dribbles of slick from his empty cunt left an entire pool of wetness for his already soaked ass to slide humiliatingly through.

Stiles just concentrated on breathing, keeping conscious and somehow allowing oxygen to still flood his brain despite the gigantic cock violating his entire mouth, tunnelling down into his throat. His gag reflex had long since been trained out of him, but the carnal fear of choking was still definitely there, so despite his best efforts to stay calm, his body began thrashing against the werewolf skull-fucking him so violently.

Derek merely snarled, like some kind of monstrous snicker at Stiles’ useless fists and writhing legs, only seeming to drive his lust on further as he thrusted harder and deeper into the soft human throat before him. Stiles, unable to cry out and left blind as his eyes were forced to squeeze shut tight or else be coated in werewolf cum, did have some reprieve, at least, as Derek’s thrusts became notably choppier against his face, his breath as loud as a predator just about to end the chase upon their prey.

And, seeing as Stiles, well, couldn’t see at that point, it was only when Derek’s knot literally hit him in the face that he realized with a muffled gasp just how far he’d really gotten.

So much cock, so many meaty, veiny inches, all crammed inside of his throat, warm and pulsing and constantly spurting cum so deep inside his gullet he didn’t even have to swallow it. The entire thing, all the way up to that tremendous, impossible swell of a furious knot now beating against his mouth just too small to fit it, already seemingly stretched to its very limit on the immense girth of the rest of his God damned cock.

But werewolf Derek was persistent, if nothing else. His brain told him one thing and one thing only, which he growled aloud to his poor mate left whimpering beneath him:

**_Knot._ **

So, with one last vicious, utterly unforgiving thrust, Derek snapped his hips forward and pushed his mate by the hair as hard against the wall as he could.

And, before Stiles could really even register what was truly happening, the knot miraculously popped right into his warm mouth as though it belonged there.

And from then it’s just a haze, really, almost like going in and out of consciousness, although Stiles is sure he didn’t really black out or anything. It was probably more him just getting high on the pain and the constant taste of his alpha’s engorged cock taking up the entirety of his throat, the smell of his cum so strong it seemed to control his very mind.

His jaw, mouth, hurt so, so much. He remembers having fleeting thoughts of perhaps if he had genuinely dislocated something, it seemed the only possible way, but knows now that, somehow, he was perfectly fine, afterwards. Maybe magic really was real, after all.

But either way, he simply lay there on the floor, exhausted, as he drank without consciously having to drink, gallons of Derek’s semen. Locked by the knot with nowhere to go, he thinks he recalls Derek turning him over at some point, so although his cock was still buried inside of his throat, he could lap at his cunt and give him as many orgasms as it took for his knot to finally go down. Like some sort of consolation prize for laying in a puddle of semen with a knot lodged in his mouth for hours.

Then again, Stiles did ask for all of it, so he couldn’t complain much. Plus, the climaxes from Derek’s skilled tongue were heavenly, as always, and the warmth and weight and sheer knowledge that Derek’s entire cock, knot and all, was trapped inside of his throat alone? It was exhilarating.

He remembers reaching up at some point, to massage at those giant furry balls pressed against his cheek, still actively seizing as they pumped their massive loads into his tummy, as though trying to get even more of it out. Which was ridiculous, considering he already felt full, and looked the part, too, in the smeared memories of him groggily gazing downward, Derek’s head dutifully working between his own legs all the while.

Just like when Derek fucked him full of his werewolf cock the first time—and every time after that—unless they for some reason decided to forego the knotting inside, although it truly did sadden them both, it appeared that Stiles was pregnant. And now, the real baby bump had grown to the point it no longer had to be felt and believed to be seen—still small but definitely visible at a glance now—but he looked _really_ pregnant.

Massive. About to burst. Late, late fucking trimester. Stiles had flirted with the idea that perhaps it wasn’t just Derek who transformed upon becoming a werewolf, like somehow the properties extended to his bonded mate, allowing his omega to stretch beyond normal human limits in order to accommodate his cock and his seed, and with any luck, his pups, eventually.

But now? Now he was pretty much fucking convinced.

Finally, after entire hours of dozing in and out of reality and yet countless more orgasms growing gentler with every one, Derek’s swollen knot had gone down enough to pop from his mouth. Stiles still stayed on it for a few minutes, just wanting to remember the feel of its throbbing hardness cumming inside of him or something, oddly relaxing as he mewled another climax into his mate’s slightly more smooth face.

But, finally, he reached up to pull the spit-slick cock from his throat bit by uncomfortable bit, strangely almost more disheartening to have it go than when it brutally entered him in the first place.

But then Stiles breathed fresh air, finally, and with a belly full of cum, passed out on the floor in the deepest slumber of his life.

He awoke the next morning in utter confusion, gripping his stomach still distended and slowly piecing together last night’s events, glancing wildly about himself before he heard Derek chuckling into his ear, a groggy mutter of, “Good morning” accompanying it.

Stiles realized Derek was behind him on the couch beneath a fuzzy blanket, and quickly opened his mouth to ask what time it was, but Derek was already pressing his finger to his lips, smirking as he reassured him, “I already cleaned our little private house-warming party up already, so don’t worry.”

And, just as before, Stiles couldn’t decide whether to be extremely grateful for that surprise, or angry that he, once again, didn’t even give him the opportunity to lend a hand.

Stiles just settled for a sleepy sigh, rolling his eyes as he decided that, truly, if one could be too good at being a mate, it would be Derek.

But hey, not every omega could probably keep up with the resulting sex drive from being so damn romantic, so Stiles figured it was only fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Thanks for reading!! Hope the whole lead up to the cabin reveal wasn’t too much, I have been leading it on for some chapters now—and also that the payoff, haha, for it was worth all the angst! I also hope that the whole two-person orgy/oral knotting thing wasn’t too filthy, cause I’ll probably get even worse lol… Oh well, it’ll be fun! Till next time, see ya! <3


	19. Belated Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Heyyo! Pretty late but I think I’ve kept up with the once a week schedule, at least! I think for peace of mind more than anything, I might wanna try going back to a regular schedule, maybe Saturday/Sunday or some weekend thing like that lol. Anyway, whatever, here’s just an entire chapter of smut yet again! :D

“I don’t know, now I think maybe more of a greenish blue would have been preferable, versus the sort of deep eggshell sorta tone it is now, y’know?”

Derek furrowed his brow at him, opening his mouth with enough energy to seem as if he were about to begin arguing against it, before apparently even the thought of that became too much effort, and he merely leaned against the door frame with eyes tight shut.

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh, as much as he would’ve loved to keep up the act just to push his mate’s buttons. “I know, I know,” he said between giggles as Derek glared at him with even more disappointment, “I’m being a dick, shouldn’t even joke about that kinda stuff with all the headache all this’s been, but I just can’t stop myself!”

Derek sighed, rolling his eyes, and led the way away from all those drying fumes to a more furnished, less breezy part of the house. “Of course you can’t, Stiles. If not for you, who could I rely on to make cheesy jokes for hours on end while working tooth and nail to make our future home together?”

“Exactly. Anyway,” Stiles hummed, opening the now-operating, actually-stocked fridge to pull out some nice, cool orange juice from it, “want some? Ah, I know you do already,” he snickered, putting the carton back before bringing glasses in both hands to the semi-connected living room—which remained mostly the same from that fated night months ago the first time he saw it, other than just the odd touch here or there, done and second-guessed only to be undone so many times it made his head spin.

As Derek sat beside him for a well-deserved break from hours of hand-aching work decorating just as much as constructing for yet another room, Stiles tucked his legs beneath him, leaning into the alpha’s chest as he went on contently, “This’ll sound really sappy, but you wanna know what my idea of the perfect life has always been like since I was just a little kid?”

“What’s that?” Derek humoured him, glancing between his lover’s face and the flat-screen playing some melodramatic but auditorily-entertaining-enough show.

“One, no boring office job nailing me down—no offence or anything.”

“None taken.”

Stiles laughed, “So, check. Two, some nice, handsome knight in shining armour who’d whisk me away from my boring old suburban life—beta, alpha, hell maybe even an omega—but I think in my heart of hearts, I always knew it would be a wonderful, big, powerful Alpha.”

Stiles kept giggling even as Derek tried to shy away, flushing slightly with chuckles of his own as Stiles wrapped his arms around him like a little bear.

“And well,” Stiles purred against Derek’s neck, placing the half-empty glass behind onto the shining coffee table, “the third thing? Heh, it might sound pretty stereotypical for the motherly archetype that is most omegas, but I have always wanted the gorgeous, three-story home all to myself.”

“Is that three stories counting the basement, or not?” Derek snickered, to which Stiles only shrugged with a laugh thrown back, as claws just beginning to be buried in fluff tickled at the gently curving swell of his feminine hips. “And all to yourself? What about that charming knight mate, hm? Or all of our,” Stiles gasped as a large mitt curled over his stomach, the touch even more amazing than usual with the newfound tautness of his skin, “delightful little pups?”

_ “Oh,”  _ Stiles moaned softly, playing his delicate fingers over his mate’s much larger ones, “th-that’s true, De… Derek, oh,” he swallowed a whine, tilting his head up as his nipples were toyed with, “li-little me never did quite understand the wh-whole pregnancy and child-rearing thing but now,” he panted, “now, I think I’m really starting to get it.”

Derek chuckled darkly into his ear, nibbling at it with sharp canines as he undid his fly with one hand, sliding his hand into the waistband of Stiles’ sweatpants with the other.

“O-oh, already? Someone’s awful horny for doing it, oh, what, three hours ago?”

“Four. And a half,” Derek replied curtly, tilting his head with a smirk as he pulled Stiles’ pants right off his feet still wrapped in knee highs.

“Oh, counting and everything? What, was my mouth not good enough last time?”

Derek shook his head, even as he growled out, “You know your head is the best, sweetheart. Just all that sawing, painting, hours in a cold room with your dad seemingly there every time things were just beginning to heat up… So now that he’s long gone and things are all settled down for the night, what can I say?”

Stiles let out another sharp gasp as his panties were suddenly pushed aside by a confident hand, and a searing hot hardness pressed right against the entrance of his pussy, quickly becoming as wet as a damn river.

“The wolf is fucking famished,” Derek murmured against his lips with a decidedly more beast-like muzzle, deep fucking voice dripping with sex as he shoved his cock already flushed an angry red right into him.

“Oh, o-oh, fuck!” Stiles screamed out, spine arching off the couch as he was utterly filled to the brim with mind-melting cock. “God, God…” he whimpered, one eye squeezed shut as he came down from the initial overstimulation, “ugh, that was such a cheesy line, but so fucking hot at the same time some fucking  _ how!” _

Stiles’ last syllable was contorted into little more than a sharp howl—not all that unlike the sound the wereman, now shoving his cock in and out of his cunt like it was trying to get away from him, made when he was breeding him full of cum.

“De-Der-” Stiles still desperately seemed to be saying, even as his voice became nearly incomprehensible with how hard Derek’s hips were snapping against his ass already sore from just that afternoon, and the morning before that, and the many times from the night before that…

But it seemed that his alpha wolf had some mercy, after all, and after a few furious pounds into the tight heat that was all his above him, he allowed the pace to slow to one that simply had Stiles panting and whining, but just able to work his fried vocal cords enough to say:

“D-Derek, u-uh, when’s your birthday?”

And Derek will admit, he didn’t see that one coming.

So his violent thrusts took a temporary pause, but one that Stiles was incredulously grateful for, anyway, as he caught his breath enough to let out a spring-like flow of laughter.

“Huh, father of our future pups? You gotta have one, after all, right? Not like you were hatched from an egg, or some sort of lab experiment, hm?”

Derek just stared confusedly at him, shaking his head in seeming disbelief as he huffed, “Where in the world did that come from-”

“All this talk about our soon-to-be children has got me emotional as well as thinking about birthdays and the like, and that’s when I thought, huh, I don’t actually know when-” he jabbed a tiny finger into the furry collar bone of his alpha, who was keeping at about 50% werewolf power so as not to rip his already straining clothes to tarnished shreds,  _ “my  _ mate’s own birthday is.”

Stiles giggled as he shifted on Derek’s wide lap, smooth, reddened ass sliding against the rough fabric of his jeans, causing them both to groan as his thick cock twitched inside of him with the movement.

“So, you already know mine’s the eighth of April—not too far off, so you better not forget it, mister—so what’s yours, then? Summer birthday, huh? That’d be nice, too bad I imagine that the pups will be born in the fall, but then again, most are, what with winter demanding most couples stay indoors all day and all-”

Derek just shook his wolfish head at the way his omega could ramble even with a cock rammed up his organs, but decided that instead of fucking him silly like he normally might at such an inane question, he would, in fact, answer it.

Besides, there was no reason to be mysterious about his personal life or his past, anymore. So he stopped Stiles mid-spiel about if maybe werewolf pups might come out earlier in the end, to say simply, “November 7th.”

“Wa-wha? But we met like around August or September, so shouldn’t that mean-”

“Yep. I think maybe I got a milkshake or an ice cream or something like that, but other than that, just a day like any other.”

Stiles seemed almost offended at that, enough he grimaced only slightly as that cock throbbed inside him as he leaned forward to glare Derek in the eye. “ ‘Just a day like any other’? No, no, that’s where you’re all wrong, sweetheart. That’s your birthday! The one day of 365.2425 that is all your own!”

Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles just continued, smirking to himself at his own silliness as he began to swirl his hips on Derek’s lap, building liquid pleasure like static electricity where their legs were intertwined, “Just think about it, baby. All these pups, all waiting inside me for their own special day, they’ll all have to share it, huh? Isn’t that weird to think about? However many of them there really are—two, three, four—it’ll be the exact same day, just minutes or hours apart.

“But you?” he smiled as he dropped his hips, making them both throw their heads back in ecstasy before he looked back down with one eye still barely open, “You and I get the entire day, all to ourselves. That’s something worth celebrating, I think.”

Derek grunted as Stiles began to really ride his cock, cowgirl style as he splayed his thighs wide to grind his hips up only to slam them back down. It was driving the werewolf mad, enough that the already constraining fabrics of cotton audibly cried out with their own clear messages that they, too, were just about to burst.

But Stiles tutted the moment he felt claws laid on his ass, smacking them away like a pesky hand going for the cookie jar. “Ah, ah, ah. For once, big bad wolf, no touching.”

“Bu-”

“No buts! Except mine,” he chuckled. “Think I’ve already made that joke before, but whatever! Cause you know why, Der? Hm, honey sweetie darling?”

Derek stared through eyes slitted in lust at the omega moving on his cock, much too slowly in his opinion. “What?”

Stiles grinned as he leaned forward, and whispered into Derek’s long, pitch-coloured, sensitive ear, “The way I’m gonna celebrate your belated birthday, is by fucking you until you’re the one begging and breathless.”

Derek opened his mouth, as if he was about to tell him he’d rather not, or maybe even good luck with that, or something to that effect, but instead, Stiles merely wrapped his legs tight as a vice around Derek’s waist, knocking enough of the wind from him he was unable to speak, and said:

“Now, get up and take us to the bedroom we just finished today, hm, and I’ll have you knot me right up until your big old heart’s ready to finally give in from exhaustion.”

Derek wanted to argue, but fuck if that and the well-timed squeeze of muscles around his veiny cock wasn’t a solid defence in its own right.

“Now, go on!” Stiles cackled, lightly slapping his hand against Derek’s back as he dug his heels in like spurs, “Mush, doggy! To the bedroom~”

~~~

“Y’know, it’s pretty damn hard to walk with you-you seemingly trying to strangle my dick with just your insides, S-Stiles-”

“Mhm, that’s kinda the point, honey,” Stiles winked as he was finally deposited upon the clean bedsheets—with his mate’s warm lap as his own personal seat, of course, “ah, but before I can leave the rest of you gasping for air as well…” he huffed as he angled his ass up and off of the warm cock impaling it, missing every single centimetre of its sweet girth as it had to leave his cunt.

Connected only by dripping strings of gooey pre-cum and syrupy slick, it made Stiles almost sad to see it. Such an angry, throbbing thing left to wait just beneath the perfect peach of his pussy right above it, one thrust away from being snug and back where it most certainly belongs, his still-twitching hole loosened enough by that cock to perfectly accommodate it—but still more than tight enough to pleasure it too, of course.

“I have to get you all ready, first,” Stiles finished, denying the pulsing between his own thighs just as much as he was denying Derek’s, for he first had to get off those bothersome jeans that he’d already made a right mess out of, but would prefer not to soil even further.

After making a little show of doing the same to his own panties—much to his growling mate’s utter chagrin—then it was time for the shirts. Stiles’ own was easy, with plenty of flirty looks and giggles as he crossed his arms like the girls did in the movies, lifting it all the way up and over his chest.

But then he was quick to throw it to the side and move onto Derek’s big, bulky, glorious abs–er, he means, shirt! The shirt, of course, haha. Okay, that’s quite enough rubbing his hand over his muscles… for now.

Besides, now that he had his huge, sturdy mate all naked and ready for the taking, Stiles could hardly wait.

Well, maybe he could wait a second. Just a second, enough to gather all the clothes up and walk the short distance to the hamper beside the dressers, licking his lips as his eyes scanned up and down the chiselled body waiting on the bed. So many angles, shadows, lines of solid muscle he could practically get lost in it. Still only partially transformed, it was mainly just the centre of his abs that were covered in true, shiny black fur; the rest of his body covered in certainly denser hair than usual, sure, but still skin enough that he could actually make out the impressive design still beneath.

Stiles finally couldn’t take it, and climbed back up onto the bed on hands and knees, just needing to reach out and touch his mate. Pressing his pale fingers to that heavily breathing chest, running his hands through all that silky fur, all the way down his abdomen glistening with dewey sweat until he reached the V of his hips, all directing a clear path straight to that hard, throbbing, red coc-

By the time Derek worked his way through his pleasured haze to realize Stile was pinning his clawed hands together, it was already too late.

“Hey-what in the hell are you doing-Stiles?!” Derek had barked out, trying to pull his hands apart, to no avail.

But really, it was “Just a pair of handcuffs! Got ‘em while I was tossing the clothes away, looks like my sleight of hand worked, huh?” Stiles winked.

Derek looked down, to his lap where his hands were now bound together, by, indeed, a pair of cheap metal cuffs. The exact same ones Stiles had gotten during Christmas, the ones that had been used quite a few times to spice things up, of course.

But they’d always been used on Stiles. Binding his wrists together to keep him from touching anything or using his hands for anything else—whether in front so he could at least steady himself as Derek took him like a literal dog, or perhaps behind his back as Derek pounded into him from below on a dining chair or something similar.

It was always hot, although certainly not required most nights, where it was mostly like what that couch fuck had been leading up to—quick but immensely satisfying, filthy sex.

But now, for his big, special day—however late—Stiles decided he’d do them both the favour of trying them out for the very first time on the alpha frowning before him.

“Oh, cheer up, sourwolf! Get it, like sourpuss, but you’re not a werecat or anything so–a-anyway, it’ll be fun, honey, I promise!”

Derek shrugged, but allowed Stiles to lean forward, pressing his lips to his furred neck just as he ran his fingers up and down his sides. “C’mon, Der… Just this once, letting me be the one on top, in charge? I mean, not really, heh, I think a couple of your fingers would feel better than my tiny prick, but for real!”

He pushed his hands forward, and Derek slowly but surely let the two of them fall back, Stiles’ small form moving up his body to press gentle but persistent kisses against the phallic muzzle now taking the place of Derek’s mouth, as despite his best efforts to attempt stoicism, he seemed to be getting aroused nonetheless enough to fully transform any minute now.

“Let me top from the bottom, hm? Just one time, just to try it out?” Stiles sighed, moving his smooth hand down to run his fingers over the bulbous red thing leaking against his inner thigh from where he was half-straddling, half-laying over Derek, forcing a muffled groan from the man. “Every single time we’ve fucked, you’ve always been the one in charge, more or less. And don’t get me wrong, I fucking love it, you know I love nothing more than to get my brains fucked out by a testosterone-crazed, horny werewolf, right?”

Stiles laughed, even as he sat up, moving his hand from Derek’s cock to prop his cuffed hands above his own head of black waves, “But just this one time, for your own special day, I wanna see just how much I can repay you for all the things you do to me.”

Stiles walked back on just his knees, until his own hard cocklet brushed against the heavy sack of Derek’s balls, the size difference so obvious as Derek’s was easily three or four times the length, not to mention over twice the width. Mmm.

“I wanna show you just how good it feels, when you spoil me and eat me out for hours, or fuck me until I can’t even hold myself up, just pounding into my exhausted ass right into the bed. I wanna get you just like that, mind so delirious with thoughts only of sex and how good it feels to be getting fucked that you literally can’t think of anything else: not about all the stressful things in your life, or what day it is, or even what your own fucking name is.

“So, before I do anything else, scoot up, Derek.”

The alpha had to admit, to stop that lovely dirty talking for such a curt command did give him mental whiplash, but he puffed, and did as Stiles wanted, shimmying up the bed all the way until his head was upon the pillows.

“No, more, more,” Stiles smiled, “more, further, further,” he giggled, not missing the chance to do a moany voice just for the hell of it.

Derek rolled his eyes, but followed instructions, all the way until there was a clear metal clink, and he looked up to find the handcuffs firmly pressed to the painted metal of the headboard, the kind that was just a bunch of interlacing rails, basically, instead of one solid hunk of wood.

Stiles waddled up the length of his body, hips raised right above Derek’s head so his pink, drooling cunt was practically directly over his ravenous mouth. But Derek denied his inner alpha to allow Stiles to reach up to his wrists, and was relieved when the tension upon them vanished, the handcuffs apparently taken off.

Only for them to be reapplied a second later.

“Oh, come on, Stiles, what the hell was that for-”

Derek furrowed his brow, as he found he suddenly couldn’t move his hands down toward his chest, even if bound together.

He looked up just as Stiles giggled impishly, snickering, “Just a little extra safety measure, really. I figure you could break through those cheap cuffs with relative ease in your overpowered form, but the entire bed frame? I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could, but then we’d have to replace the entire thing, and we wouldn’t want to go through that pain again, would we?”

Derek looked back at his mate to snarl, uselessly tugging only for the loud clatter of metal on metal to sound out, the chains of the cuffs clinking against the thick rail they were wrapped around.

“Fine,” the alpha finally let out, as he allowed his hands as well as the rest of his body to relax—well, except the one piece of anatomy that stayed firmly at a ninety-degree angle in the air, “you can try whatever you want on me, Stiles, and I’ll try my best in turn not to break the entire fucking bed.” Stiles guffawed. “But only if you realize I’m going to cuff you this exact same way tomorrow night, and I’m going to tease your slutty little pussy until you God damn cry.”

Stiles slid back to above his weeping cock to nod, moaning, “Oh, yes. That sounds delightful, alpha.”

Then he leant down, laid all the way until he was eye level with the one-eyed slit of Derek’s over-sized cock, and opened his mouth.

Only to blow cool air on it.

Derek hissed reactively at the subpar feeling, drawing merely a giggle from his coy little minx of a mate. A kiss more akin to a butterfly’s wing was laid upon the head of it, and then Derek knew exactly where this was going.

“Just gonna blue ball me forever, Stiles?” Derek huffed, even as his breath caught with another blow, this time of hot, humid air right upon the tip of his leaking erection. “What happened to making me exhausted from the sheer number of orgasms I’d have tonight?”

“Oh, that’ll come soon,” Stiles simply purred, as he tickled his fingers up and down on the meaty shaft of his prize, tucking his other hand on his cheek as though daydreaming of a high school crush.

“Just getting some pay back before all that, I suppose,” Stiles sighed, lips moving right against the head so his tongue flicking with his words caught the salty taste of cum, swallowing it and making sure to moan his praises afterward.

“Don’t you know how many hours you could tease me, not a single climax as you just kept edging me, letting it go, building it up, stopping dead cold. How torturous that is, to have your wonderful mouth wrapped around my cock, only for you to stop the second I yell ‘I’m gonna cum’?”

Stiles tutted, licking a long, passionate stripe up the underside of Derek’s ball sack all the way to the tip of his throbbing hard-on before he continued, “No, no, no, sweetie. I’m gonna keep you here for as long as it takes for sleep to finally take us both over, even if it’s all fucking night. Just like the way you always lap at my cunt like it’s the elixir to life, I’ll suck every last drop of your sperm till you’ve got nothing left.”

At first, Derek held onto his reserves. For as wonderful as Stiles’ passion was, his talk filthy and more than a little arousing, light fingertips extremely knowledgable of every vein Derek liked traced and tongue skilled in licking at every pearl of semen from his cock slit, Derek seriously doubted that he could really edge him at all, let alone render orgasm after orgasm from him until he was begging for him to stop, as the omega so proudly proclaimed.

Because, come on. Yeah fucking right.

No lover Derek had previously experienced had ever done so, but then again, they were nothing compared to the passion and heat of Stiles’ body, as he worked at Derek’s raging erection like some sort of delicate art, humming and giggling even as he deep throated his cock halfway down his throat, loving each and every cuss and grunt from his lover all caught up in those handcuffs.

But not any piece of media, fictional or otherwise, that Derek had ever seen had really ever detailed an alpha being overwhelmed by their omega. No handcuffs, no blowjobs until he was the one sobbing, none of that.

Because, really, it was obvious, when you got down to it. The alpha was made to provide, protect, please, and the omega to receive, nurture, be pleasured. Stereotypical as it might be, it was biologically evident in the way their sexual experiences had always naturally evolved. That little voice inside their heads, the alpha and omega subconsciously driving them on, knew what to do.

Which is why what they were trying to do now was just so… wrong.

Not morally, of course. Not legally or anything serious like that. Just, that voice, that drive, it knew something was off about this whole arrangement. Something about the pheromones, the instincts, the way Derek couldn’t rip his hands from above him to card his hands through Stiles’ curls, nor buck his hips without Stiles simply giving him a look as he merely held him by the balls, swaying his poor straining erection through the empty air.

It knew the roles were wrong, that it was the exact opposite of what should really be going on here. Stiles felt it, too, cunt absolutely throbbing at the fact his senses were filled with alpha cock, but knowing he wouldn’t dare fuck it inside of him until Derek was just on the edge of nirvana.

It was like edging to him as much as it was to Derek, but Stiles tried not to let it get to him. Tried to use the scent of his slick-soaked pussy to his advantage, knowing Derek’s keen werewolf nose would pick it up like a shark to a drop of blood in the ocean, as he swayed his hips high above him, licking and jerking at Derek’s cock as the flow of pre-cum steadily increased just as his breathing did.

Besides, he knew Derek must feel it, as well, when he eats him out for hours. How hard his own ignored cock hanging between his legs must be, how frustrated his alpha must howl inside his mind even as he sates his hefty thirst for slick, straight from the source.

So Stiles sucked on. And as the minutes grew and grew, Derek realized slowly with groans and gasps that oh, oh no. This was not good.

Because it was working.

Despite those teasing touches, despite the fact he couldn’t thrust his cock to his balls inside of that wet heat without Stiles punishing him with a glare and entire torturous seconds of non-stimulation, despite being unable to—as awful as it was—follow his wolf’s carnal desires, break the post, shove Stiles knot deep on his desperate cock, and have him swallow gallons of the resulting orgasm, as an omega rightfully should-

He was so close to ejaculating.

All it was was a sweet, soft version of a blow job. Barely any deep throating, and if there was, it would only be for just the seemingly calculated amount of bobs to have Derek hoping this would finally last until his orgasm, only for Stiles to go right back to tonguing his slit with a mischievous giggle.

Little slut. Derek might have been joking about the literal torture of teasing the subsequent night, but no more. At this rate, he was practically begging for it.

But oh, so was Derek, nearly. Of course, he had his pride and all, so he didn’t, but damn, he really was getting near the end…

Just as Stiles had half-heartedly complained about before, it was just an endless cycle of build up, fall off, only to build up a little more than before, until after entire dozens of agonizing minutes had passed, he was near to orgasm.

But Stiles spotted with slitted eyes the way Derek’s balls were seizing against his cheek, and if he had those werewolf ears, they would’ve twitched in at the sound of Derek’s ragged breath, his sweaty fur gleaming in the moonlight as those huge ribs heaved.

Stiles just grinned as he popped off Derek’s cock, and said, “Admitting defeat yet, honey?” stroking his cock so slowly it only plateaud his pleasure. “All you gots to do is beg a little for me, sweetie pie, and I’ll suck you right to the end.”

Nothing but pants and grunts, a Derek staring at the ceiling in a way that made Stiles know the werewolf would be crossing his arms, if only he could, hehe.

“No? Not even a ‘Please, Stiles’? I’d even take a, ‘Aw, finish me, omega’, although I’d prefer the former. More humiliating that way, don’cha think?”

Derek just huffed and puffed, and Stiles didn’t dare blow his proverbial house down.

Because that just wasn’t good enough.

~~~

Nearly twenty minutes later, and Derek was a sweating, desperate mess of an alpha.

So badly did he want to just shove his cock into Stiles’ teasing little mouth, to bury himself all the way to his knot in those lips that merely tongued on the very head of his furiously reddened cock, massaging his balls almost constantly seizing in preparation to seed their potent load, only to be let down as Stiles slid his lips right up and off the thing twitching so hard, it might as well be alive.

Finally, after another bout of encouraging words mixed with underlying insults, Stiles perked up at words.

“S-Stiles,” his alpha’s gruff voice said, in a totally unfamiliar, desperate way.

It almost got Stiles more sexually excited than he’d ever been before, and that was saying something.

“Yes, sir?”

“P…”

“Hm? What was that, Der?” he tilted his head, pouting as he flicked two lone fingers over his exposed glans. “C’mon, honey, just  _ spit it out, _ already.”

Derek groaned, but finally came back just as his lower muscled rippled once more in yet another denied orgasm, “Please, Stiles… I’m begging you, l-let me… let me cum, please.”

Stiles nodded, licking his lips as he complimented him, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Such a good boy, so here’s your reward…”

And with that, Stiles wrapped his lips around the head of Derek’s cock, and went all the way down, using his tongue the entire long journey of the way.

And sure enough, with a roaring shout, Derek burst right up and into his mouth. Sperm filling every last part of his throat, so much creamy cum to swallow and lick and swallow again-

But there was a problem, one that Derek noticed after the second of mind-blowing orgasm was unfortunately over so soon.

Stiles didn’t let him knot.

No, his mouth stayed above the pulsing, hard swell of his cock, avoiding it purposefully. For little was more uncomfortable for an alpha than their knot staying cold—even jacking off themselves, it was common knowledge one hand would be used for the sole duty of tricking their alpha into thinking they’d knotted  _ something. _

But nothing? Absolutely nothing but cool air on his cock, even as Stiles so greedily swallowed his cum right above it?

It drove Derek mad, truly.

But as Derek raged on against the cuffs keeping him locked in place, Stiles only laughed. Because oh, this was not the end.

And surely enough, once he’d had his fill of werewolf cum—for that round, anyway—Stiles lifted his hips, and stayed there. Just allowing that still-ejaculating cock to smear its bountiful load all over his thighs, taint, ass, and his pussy, of course.

He giggled to himself as though drunk—which he might as well have been, all that cum warm in his belly and all—as he directed Derek’s cock with one hand, the other playing with his own sex to ensure every fold of slick skin would be coated in Derek’s seed, from bottom to top, inside and out, utterly dripping with that non-stop flow of life-giving sperm.

But he didn’t put it inside.

Even as Derek groaned both in pleasure from his continuous orgasm, and misery from not being sat inside his rightful cunt, Stiles didn’t satisfy him. Not yet.

It wasn’t until Derek was biting his pride and then some, spilling constant words of pleading with his own bitch of an omega now utterly flipping their precious dynamic, that Stiles smiled with all the sadism Derek had hundreds of times before he thrusted his cock right inside of his unprepared pussy.

Only, this time, Stiles was the one in control, as he slowly lowered himself on that cock with the sole intent of giving himself any and all of the pleasure he desired.

And so he set a middling pace—which, when compared to Derek’s pace that could literally becoming blindingly fast—was quite slow, really.

He rode Derek’s cock moaning and laughing to himself the entire time, even as that enormous cock splitting him in two finally stopped its proper ejaculation, in favour of pre-cumming yet again in a stream that was nearly identical. Kept chiding and berating Derek just as the alpha would to him while fucking him, although not in literal words, for calling him an “alpha knot-head” or something like that just didn’t quite have the same effect as being called “my little slut”, in his humble opinion.

It was more the subtext of his sentences, in things like, “Like my c-cunt, h-huh, Alpha? W-wanna knot me, d-don’cha? C’mon, fuck me already…” Knowing perfectly well Derek would be allowed no such thing, for the moment the werewolf dared to chase his own pleasure and thrust up into the cunt above him, Stiles would skirt his own all the way up and right off of his cock, leaving him to throb helplessly in the air until he decided to forgive him.

And even as Derek begged once more, seemingly as out of it as Stiles got in that headspace, he didn’t feel too bad. Because Derek had done this hundreds of times to him, even the little buck-and-I-stop thing he’d stolen from him, and that one was a real bitch, sometimes.

Besides, he knew just how fucking good it felt. To be powerless, left in the hands of another. Maybe not a good feeling all the time, but for one night, it was ethereal.

Stiles could truly do whatever he wanted to him. Well, almost everything, obviously extreme things like choking or smacking was out of the question. But a little hold enough to bruise those strong, strong leg muscles? A little use of the comparatively dull nails up and down his sides, a spur-of-the-moment switch from his cunt to his ass being the hole that he’d fuck this living dildo with?

All his decision, for once.

And that continued for hours. Literal hours. Stiles came, for sure, but so did Derek. In fact, he was practically always either actively cumming, or just on the edge of it, although his knot would stay firmly outside of Stiles’ cunt, both for the torture of it as well as the fact it allowed him to still fuck the rest of it.

Sometimes Stiles would decide to take it easy, give his sore pussy a rest even as his alpha thrashed beneath him, acting coy as his own chest heaved with glistening sweat from how hard he was exerting himself—topping wasn’t half as easy as it looked, and he never thought it looked easy in the first damn place.

But sometimes he would show some mercy to his dear alpha. Or he’d just chase his own selfish orgasm, riding Derek’s cock all the way to his end, whether Derek was ready to cum or not. Some of his most fond memories of that night, in fact, were of cumming with a screaming moan on Derek’s cock only to leave him hanging out to dry, so close to his own orgasm only to be left unsatisfied, a tight cunt squeezing around him in its greedy climax that no doubt made his cock feel jealous.

Okay, maybe he was personifying genitalia a little bit there, but you get the idea.

It was only when Stiles was truly exhausted, so tired as the ugly colours of dawn were beginning to show through the curtains, cheeks streaked with remnants of drying tears just as Derek’s fur was stained partially with his own—a rare, but oddly satisfying sight, indeed—that he decided this would be the final orgasm.

He pounded his pussy up and down Derek’s miraculously-but-not-really-because-he-was-an-alpha-after-all still hard cock, spewing practical nonsense about how Derek was such a good alpha or some other inane bullshit, the alpha in question similarly so worn out despite being the practical pillow princess that night that he no longer even tried to fuck his rightful claim.

So it was all Stiles that drove them both to their final, simultaneous climax. And that time, with a cry of Derek’s name and a declaration of love, he, for the very first time that night, allowed that knot to pop right inside of his waiting body.

Knotted and knocked up, Stiles slid more than moved to lay besides his mate, happy and perfectly blissed out. So tired that, for once, he couldn’t even quip, just catching his breath until it slowed to a near-slumbering pace.

But despite all that, somehow he remained conscious enough to glean the words from beside him, “That was… the best birthday…”

And although it wasn’t even his, Stiles had to agree.

Best belated birthday gift, ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> _Check me out for updates and art and stuff! <3 _
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> Hey there! So, admittedly I wrote this mostly because 1. I really like writing really long sex scenes of course, and 2. Because it has been bugging me for a while I’ve been kind of lazy with dates, including birthdays, in this fic, which, in hindsight, was a bit of an error on my part lol. 
> 
> So, all’s that to say, I’m not running out of ideas—definitely not lol! There are still many major plot points I want to get to eventually—the inevitable birth, then maybe some child-rearing as well as more heats, more generations, dealing with eventual teenagers growing up, etc—buuuuut, I would like to pace it a little slower than just having it jump several years one chapter to the next. 
> 
> Sooo, if you have any questions that might still remain that I may or may not have forgotten about during this story—or just a scene you’d like written, be it cute, sexy, or maybe even both—I’m all ears, really! :D So just leave a comment, if you wanna, and I’ll be more than happy to see if I can include it somewhere, really! ^^ 
> 
> Even if you’re just here for the ride, thanks a lot for reading, and see ya sometime next week! ;)


	20. Ahead of Schedule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Sorry for my lateness once more, ugh! Gonna get my shit together, I swear! 
> 
> Anyway, chapter 20, whew! Big 2 0, that means I’ve been writing this same fic for… gosh, like 5 months lol >< I don’t know whether to be disappointed or proud of that, maybe both ;D 
> 
> Whatever, more changes, more smut! ^^

Throughout the warming months of spring, Stiles’ pregnancy progressed just as well as their house did.

That is to say, majorly well, but not without a number of hiccups.

One moment, it would be smooth sailing, with an ocean blue and a clear sky like any idealistic sailor’s dream. And then, some foreboding cloud of grey would appear, be it in the form of delays for some contract work—plumbing, electricity, flooring, you name it—or in the form of the delivery projections being shortened, and shortened, and shortened.

Because just as it became an increasing possibility that they might not even have the bare-bones two-bedroom, two-bathroom setup done in time for the original autumnal birth, the nurses and doctors alike grew increasingly worried, or, even worse, suspicious, at just how quickly the still-developing forms within him were striking and even quicker surpassing all the usual milestones of phase and mass.

And as reassuring as it was to know that their pups were getting along just fine, or even better, really, it was also the source of increasing worry for the two of them.

Because as wonderful as it was for the near-constant feeling of fatigue, and the occasional but nonetheless incredibly irritating cases of morning sickness, to subside, as well as receiving the good news that their bones had already calcified enough ten weeks in—only slightly ahead of schedule—to see them on an x-ray, not that they wanted to know the number nor the genders, at least not yet-

It was also a dilemma.

For as the weeks and months carried on over the second trimester, and his back began to strain from the growing weight upon his stomach, it was unmistakable, then.

These certainly were not normal, human pups. They were  _ pups, _ literally,  _ werewolf  _ pups.

Not just the slightly euphemistic term for alpha-omega offspring, named “pups” simply after the fact that they were commonly had in litters of two or three rather than the more typical couples’ singular one.

But real pups. Obviously different, more like Derek in their strength as what could’ve been simple stomach aches grew more restless until it was clear that it was the kicking of babes—entire weeks ahead of when a much easier, gentler version should have been starting up.

Derek hadn’t been sure of it, although he’d had a hunch ever since Stiles had conceived, and his scent changed. Not like he could literally smell werewolf just from the microscopic eggs then fertilized within his mate, but he just… had one of those weird tingly feelings.

After all, he hadn’t been born a were, nor had Miranda, Jonah, or Atlas from his old pack, and they four were the only ones he’d ever met in all the States that had ever given him that raising-hair-on-the-back-of-your-neck sort of feeling.

Only through some ancient ritual had he been transformed, and how those three good-for-nothings had ever figured out how to do it, or how they might have become werewolves in the first place—born or become themselves—they never gave a strict answer to. Always rolling of eyes from Miranda, dismissive chuckling key to Jonah, or the cold, dead stares of the one and only Atlas, tyrant through and through.

So, all that is to say, neither of them were fully convinced they were really going to be having werewolf pups up until nearly halfway through the pregnancy.

For as delightful as it was to be reminded through words and physicality that he had, in fact, mated with a werewolf of all beings in this blasted world, it was pure conjecture. After all, perhaps the rapid growth in his swelling, stretch-marked stomach was nothing more than simple, human genetics at play. Derek was a big guy, and maybe all it was was just a considerable number of pups all struggling for some peace and quiet inside of the confines of his womb.

But that easy-going excuse began to melt away, little by little, as the sheer ferocity behind the kicks already leaving Stiles breathing heavy and closing his eyes tight just in week 18 forced them to come to the most obvious, but cumbersome conclusion:

These were, indeed, Derek’s pups. Half were, or maybe even fully, although they both thought that didn’t make the most sense, genetically. They both marvelled at the thought, in all of its immense complexity.

Both in the lighter sense, at the sheer spectacle of what it could possibly mean to have half-supernatural offspring, musing half-heartedly at their keen senses that very well might already be developing, murmuring against his soft stomach in the late hours of twilight to the pups within.

But also in the darker, more realistic sense. Because as marvellous as it no doubt could be to raise such talented and unique children, it would also no doubt be quite the hassle, even more so than the typical rearing of multiples normally would be.

Because the thing about being a werewolf, was that only those one trusted the absolute most could ever know. Otherwise, it was just as sure an assumed friend would spread the rumour to everyone in town as they might straight up contact some sort of authority, for fear of the unknown.

Certainly, having lived with a werewolf for the better half of a year by then, Stiles had seen first hand the powers of the night’s wrath used for good and for bad, heard tales of Derek’s past life in New York and how his senses aided him as much as they hurt him, in the end. With nearly unlimited physical prowess came nearly just as much responsibility, energy, to reign it in, keep it from getting out of control.

Stiles had seen it himself, once or twice where they’d been out shopping somewhere, only for some stranger to start staring him down from across the aisle. Whether for jealousy or simple drunken arousal, or some other tertiary thing, Stiles would just try to blow it off as nothing. Just some stupid guy who they could simply ignore, walk past, and be on their merry way.

And as laudable as it was that Derek inevitably followed suit, merely throwing the voyeur a pinpointed glare, Stiles saw beforehand, the raised lip, furrowed brow, hint of a pearly canine peeking through, glinting in the artificial light, looking just a tad longer than it really ought to.

It was obvious to the both of them that his werewolf blood was as much a blessing as it was a curse. While it might not be as extreme as it was in most books and movies—no automatic transformation at the mere motion of full moonlight, no howling at the moon or being driven by hunger like an honest to God beast—Derek still did feel the pull of the wolf, almost all the time.

Stiles may have convinced him to let his guard down at home, when it was just the two of them, where he could wolf out fully come night, or stay somewhere between in limbo during the day, ready to return to his humanity at a knock at the door.

But in public? With anyone other than his father, Derek always had to be very, very careful. Not let his emotions get out of control, always keep his anger to a hidden, balled fist. Wear his poker face not just out of habit, but out of necessity, for to encourage escalation of any situation might spell the doom for him, and for Stiles and their life together, ultimately.

To put it simply, the less everyone knew about his werewolf abilities, the better.

Derek was very good at that, but of course he was. Although sometimes he got possessive—and Stiles felt both reassured and nervous at the fact that, if some stranger ever got Stiles alone, with less-than-stellar intentions toward him, those black claws would be revealed and there’d be one less wayward soul roaming the earth faster than he could blink—Derek mostly kept his handle on his urges, instincts, transformation.

But perhaps that was simply because it was Derek, stoic and steady as stone. Again, not like the other three lone werewolves he’d ever met had shared much about their own experiences, ever.

So, perhaps their children, even being only half-were, most likely, would encounter far more problems than he. Not only would they be born with all the strength and power that came with their superhuman abilities, they would have to endure all the confusing complexities of growing up in this modern, rule-heavy world.

Top that all off with having to hide their innate powers constantly, and, well…

That just might be a recipe for complete and utter disaster.

But, oh, Stiles knew better than to stress himself out, as he reclined in the living room with a book in his hands, the sun setting outside as he watched it vaguely through glazed eyes that he slowly blinked himself out of.

Stress wasn’t good for him, and certainly not for those growing lifeforms within him, either. However many there were. Whatever gender, primary or secondary, appearance, etc…

Oh, he sighed to himself, as he tried to find his place again on the pages of a mystery novel recommended to him by Mrs. something or other, how he couldn’t wait to see what they looked like, already… To know how they would act, how different or similar they might be, if they were fraternal or all identical after all.

How they might grow up over the coming years, how they might start and then branch off from one another, or perhaps stay near enough by they could still see them every day, even as the years spanned into decades…

God, sitting in an armchair and reminiscing about the future as if it was the past, what is he, 80 freaking years old?

Stiles sighed to himself and slid the bookmark in place, placing the book on the coffee table before huffing as he pulled himself to his feet. Not even halfway through the pregnancy and he was already definitely having some struggles with mobility, his hands placed on a stomach obviously distended not with weight but with pure, sweet life.

He kept his hands on its warmth even as he made his way outside through the sliding door to the “backyard”, stopping on the porch just recently finished, sitting on an outdoor chair he’d chosen all for himself.

As he breathed in the fresh dusk air, chilly but not cold enough to require anything more than the sweatpants and cardigan he usually found himself wearing all the time nowadays anywho, he mused simultaneously on the pregnancy, the pups, and whether or not there should be a fence for this currently unenclosed backyard.

Hm… probably.

It was then that his own subpar human hearing picked up the all-too-familiar sound of rubber roving atop the dirt road towards the right, pulling into the impromptu patches in the grass that made a good enough driveway for the isolated location of their patchwork cabin.

Stiles smiled to himself as he heard every telltale sound of his mate’s work shoes hitting the soil, shutting the door firmly but not slamming it, jingling his keys before putting them in the pocket of his slacks.

Normally, he might rush to greet his alpha from a hard day’s work, especially it being another blessed Friday with a weekend busy with absolutely nothing but leisure ahead of them, but he reckoned he’d just gotten outside, and it wasn’t like he was required to meet Derek at the door like some clingy dog… Not that he was too far off, really.

So he just sighed happily to himself, as he put a fist to his cheek and stared out at the emerald pines circling the cabin. Such thick, enormous trees, centuries old, just so happened to stop in a near-perfect shape to allow the construction of a quaint but cosy home, with plenty of room for expanse, as well.

The grass still seemed somewhat glossy with the frost of that morning, as it would certainly whiten over once more for the cold night. This winter had been a particularly cold one for the West coast, something to do with the wind currents over the Pacific or something, and although it tried its best to stretch its long, frigid digits into spring, the flowers of the most pleasant season were triumphantly blooming anyhow. For that’s just what they were meant to do. Persist, no matter what stood in their way.

Anyway, enough thinking about flowers, Stiles hummed to himself, tapping his socked foot quietly against the floorboards as he looked to the left, where much of the house was still left unroofed and unfinished, yet to be built.

Just within sight, although partially obscured by trees and undergrowth alike, was a small but clear lake, one which had been kept sealed by a layer of frost, although not quite thick enough to be used anyway for ice skating or anything like that. Not that Stiles would risk such physicality while with child, nor would Derek ever allow it, to begin with.

But maybe one day…

Maybe one day him and his however many, however old children could go out to that lake during the summer—of course, all of them would be properly trained on swimming techniques and with the proper floaties and whatever—and just do whatever, all day.

No worries about the unknown technicalities of what could perhaps be the first werewolf-human pregnancy in all of history, for all they knew.

No concerns about what in the world a natural birth would be like, or if the pups might come out decidedly more wolf-like than most newborns might be, so maybe an at-home birth would be necessary, but ah, they looked fine on the x-ray, at least, so the technician said…

No. There would be absolutely none of that. Because it would all be past them, in the rear-view mirror, safe and known. Exactly how the pregnancy would go, 100% survival rate and all, no long-term damage or anything like that.

Everything would be perfect and nice, with the kids all splashing around and the warm air filled with laughter and not a care in the world. They would age slowly, and yet so fast, with all the growing pains one could expect from baby to toddler to child and so forth, but not without anymore substantial struggle than a perfectly normal suburban child would be expected to have.

Just a little secret, one that they could never tell, never show anyone.

Just a little secret, one that meant they could never burst into tears to the point of forgetting all manners, nor let petulant anger consume them until fangs burst from their toothless gums in a manner that could only be possible through impossible magic.

Just a little secret, one that no baby or toddler or small child could ever be expected to actually keep. Because, hell, Stiles is certain that if Derek had told him when Scott and all the rest of them were still in town, and not all over the country attending dream colleges, Stiles would’ve talked his mouth and their ears right the fuck off.

He would’ve been a legal adult, eighteen years and everything, and he would’ve blown that secret to smithereens without a second thought for Derek’s well-being or, ultimately, his own potential future.

Stiles’ eyes twitched behind his dark lids, a slight frown forming upon his otherwise peaceful face.

Because these pups weren’t just Derek’s. They were his as well, his own flesh and blood.

And if there’s anything babysitting since he was fourteen had taught him, it’s that it might not seem like it at first, but an adolescent really is little more than a younger version of their mom and pop. Some combination of the two, so long as both were present while the child’s extremely malleable mind was still developing, just barely learning words and how to put them together, already forming its own personality and traits that would persist throughout the rest of its life, very well.

Hell, perhaps even without proper parenting, genes and a similar environment might affect it, as well. Stiles himself, for instance, might seem nothing like his stern-faced father at first glance, but deep down much of the values he holds are thanks to him and his more serious style of upbringing. Not to mention that when his dad finally allowed himself to get loose at a bar or over sports or some other similar dad thing with his colleagues—a thing which he was fortunately doing more of now that Stiles was out of his hair—he actually had much the same sense of humour that Stiles did, really.

And although he’d never even met his mother, he feels deep inside that perhaps a large part of his more lax nature is due to her. From old videotapes as well as stories, at least, it seems so.

So, all in all, the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree, the vast majority of the time. Of course, a child is its own being, converging from its parent just like its genes mutate during the vital stages of development within the womb.

For better or worse, it becomes its own unique self. But the base upon which its quirks may spiral from remains the same, from the two parents that seed it and then let it grow.

So, if these pups came out anything like their mother, like Stiles? Well…

That little secret is as good as dead already.

“Stiles,” a voice says just as the door beside him slides open, promptly jolting said Stiles from his thoughts as well as right up and out of the chair.

“N-nothing-I-I mean, yeah? What is it, h-honey, Derek?”

Derek gave Stiles a slight raise of the brow before clearly deciding simply not to ask, as per usual. “What are you doing just sitting out here in the dark? Come on, get inside before the mosquitoes bite you to pieces.”

Stiles nodded, chuckling only a little nervously as he followed his mate into the house, thankful for the warmth at least as the glass door was slid back into place behind the two of them.

Well, and of course, he was thankful for his mate, he smiled, running a hand along the well-angled face of the man before him, already dressed down into casual clothing fitting an evening just for the two of them.

“You’ve got a bit of a stubble going on there, dear. When’s the last time you shaved?”

“Yesterday morning.”

Stiles tutted. “Every day shaving, no joke, huh? Ah, guess it could be worse, though. And I’m sure the super hearing and sight and smell and all that more than make up for it, right?”

Derek again raised that brow, but this time, even as he cupped a hand over his much smaller, softer omega’s, decided not to just chalk it up to Stiles being lost in his thoughts once again. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, just, y’know, being a werewolf and all! I mean, you know I think about it sometimes—and although I’m pretty sure I’m still and will always be good with just being a squishy human without all the fangs and claws to defend me—but now and again, I just can’t help but think about how, y’know, awesome it must be to be able to do all that cool stuff other people can’t, y’know?”

Derek glanced his mate up and down, in that way that told Stiles he already knew something was up, so he might as well cut the act. “You’re thinking about our pups again, aren’t you? How they’ll be part werewolf, at least, it seems like?”

Stiles entertained the easier thought of just continuing his false smile and acting coy, but let out his tense breath, nodding slowly as he murmured to his socks, “Yeah, I am. I have been for a while, seems like more often than not nowadays I am…”

“Well,” Derek sighed himself, sliding his other hand to cup his omega’s cheek in an identical but mirrored fashion to the soft hand still tracing his own, “you have absolutely nothing to worry about, you know that? What good will worrying do, anyway? When we don’t even have the slightest idea what to worry about?”

Stiles shook his head, shrugging as he breathed out, “I dunno, I really don’t… It’s just like, somehow, if I keep ruminating on it forever, I’ll figure out some answer, even though I know that isn’t really possible at all. It’s a mystery, up until they finally decide to come out, whenever that is…”

He let out a low sigh as he leaned forward into Derek’s chest, both hands coming down upon the hard structure of his upper abs where his head rested. “I already feel so full, so heavy… I look like a beta mother at full term, y’know that?”

“Well, betas usually only have to deal with a singleton, you know. Even a normal alpha-omega pairing obviously don’t have quite the eager kin,” Derek chuckled, sliding a hand between the two of them to gently circle the thing keeping their lower halves from fully intertwining. “From all their kicking and punching, just how many do you figure you actually have in there?”

“Mm, I dunno, could be just a couple of real rowdy boys and/or girls, or it could be a whole litter of four,” Stiles laughed. “But, ah, they really are trying to wear me out, with all these damn aches and pains, and we’re not even halfway through…”

“If I could somehow siphon your pain into my own body, you know I would in a heartbeat, Stiles, if only I could,” Derek muttered, looking down to the shining black waves of hair growing longer by the day, knowing that Stiles would probably want to cut it sooner or later, but while he had it, he played his hand gently through its locks.

“I feel almost guilty,” Derek continued, “being the one to seed what only you can work on nourishing and ultimately bearing yourself… You’re the one who has to do all the hard work, all I have to do is breed with you once,” he laughed somewhat bitterly.

“Breed me once? Just once?” Stiles waggled a brow, looking up. “I think not, Alpha. Remember just how many times you mated me when I fell into heat, not to mention all the times after…” he shut his eyes, a grin growing on his lips as he recalled all the sweet memories already bringing a heat between his legs.

Stiles tapped an index along Derek’s collar bone as he murmured, “Ah, but y’know, it might be unfair, how I do have to endure all the physical strain of pregnancy and labour, but you being here? Bringing in a more than comfortable stream of income, providing for me, protecting me however you can… Mm, I love it when you make me breakfast in bed, or cook me up something nice for dinner when the pups are too restless for me to wanna do much of anything.”

Stiles went up on an arched foot to whisper closer to Derek’s ear, “And when you  _ fuck  _ me, even though I’m obviously already so full of your pups I can barely take anymore, and yet you fill me with your knot and cum inside of me until I’m at least most of the way I’ll look when I’m finally ready to burst…”

Stiles grinned, sliding his hand not caressing Derek’s jaw between and beneath his swollen stomach, just beneath where a hard, hot thing strained up and against the lower curve of his pregnant belly, “That, truly, is all I could ever ask of my better half.”

_ “Stiles,”  _ Derek grunted, with a massive amount of seeming effort behind his strained voice as he kept his fingers idling upon Stiles’ face, his abdomen.

“What? Are you trying to tell me you’re already so hard you’ll cum the moment I lay my hand on your bare cock? Huh, was not doing it this morning, or the rest of this long, hard hours between just too much for you and your always-horny, throbbing hard-on, hm?”

“Stiles, we can’t-”

“Why not? We did it last night, and what happened to me since then? Nothing, I’ll tell you that! Well, other than maybe having to drain myself of entire litres of your semen, but that’s always an enjoyable experience, anyhow. Got a couple more orgasms just out of the bath,” Stiles winked, even as his hand continued to work its magic on Derek’s indeed, pulsing erection.

“Stiles…” Derek tried, really tried, God bless him, moving his hands up to Stiles’ shoulders and begging him with half-lidded eyes as though that would do anything but turn the omega on even further. “You know that we’re not supposed to, now that you’re so large and vulnerable…”

Stiles hmph’d, wrapping a hand around Derek’s wrist so he could drag his mate by the hand, as well as quite literally by the cock—with a gentle hold, obviously, he wasn’t quite  _ that  _ sadistic—and toward the couch, where they’d finally learned their lesson enough to lay down plenty of blankets and rugs upon the floor to mop up cum as well as cushion knees and elbows in the event of oral and/or rough sex.

“Well, the doctor just vaguely recommended we be safer about penetrative sex, right? That’s what I thought I heard from all that quick muttering, anyway, so why can’t we at least indulge ourselves in some foreplay, huh? Just a quick handjob, maybe with a little bit of mouth, too,” Stiles sighed happily to himself.

Derek huffed, knowing fully well that one way or another, Stiles would abuse Derek’s arousal and turn him into a beast that would full-on fuck him anyway, no matter how hard he tried to hold on.

As Stiles took his place between Derek’s knees and onto all that soft carpeting beneath, pulling his enormous, leaking cock from the slit in his pyjama-like pants, Derek tried to be a good, upstanding man. Really tried to not give into lust, even as Stiles so methodically stroked his groomed nails upon the veins of his cock, commenting on how it twitched so violently it was as if the thing was trying to just fuck him already, deceivingly sweet giggle.

He knew exactly what Stiles was trying to do, even as that filthy mouth still talking so much awful, wonderful things tried to egg him on, saying without directly saying just how bad he wanted him to fuck his cunt wasting all its slick on the floor…

He tried to hold on, literally, as his nails gripped the armrest as well as the back of the couch, trying for some leverage, even as those nails darkened, lengthened, became swathed in just the beginnings of that fur that marked his hybrid form, ready to take him over and do with his little mate whatever his dark heart desired.

But it was just so hard, as Stiles began mouthing directly against the head of his cock, which inevitably turned to outright licking it in favour of even pretending to attempt proper communication. Which quickly developed into the usual sucking and tonguing at his slit, drinking his sperm direct from the source as he giggled himself drunk on the addictive flavour blooming upon his taste buds.

It was so incredibly difficult, to try to remember the doctor’s orders, to reason with himself for what was best for the two of them and their unborn pups, to keep in mind the safety and sanctity of Stiles’ stomach pressing between his calves, knowing that all it would take is one wrong move in his feral form, and that could very well be it, tragedy.

And yet here this little slut was, taking him deep into the back of his throat and laughing the entire time, looking to him with heavy eyelids that he knew turned him on just as did the way he twisted his hands upon his balls, becoming fluffy and furred right between his fingers as he grinned, knowing he was winning this battle of wills.

Stiles had said it the night before, the very same night they’d gone for the routine visit only to be slightly put off by the news that they really ought not to be having any sort of real sex anymore, and that that would only become an increasing concern rather than a lessening one, as the pregnancy extended and his mobility worsened by the growing life within his womb.

Stiles had said what he’d said so many times before, even before the news, all the way back to the very first time he’d managed to tempt Derek to knot him in his wolven form—only to be cockblocked, but that was all history, now.

“You won’t hurt me, your bonded, sweet omega mate,” Stiles’ eyes spoke for him, as they glinted in the flickering light from the fireplace, just as hot and dangerous as Derek’s lust was rapidly growing, as it seemed the very fur from his transformation grew to block the corners of his vision as it covered his face, just as a hazy gold-red vignette overtook everything, as always happened right when he was about to shape-shift.

Derek tried, he really, really did.

But Stiles was just too good.

And so that’s how Stiles found himself suddenly forced to the ground, partly by a clawed hand knocking him back, partly by the red, gigantic cock still within his throat shifting the rest of his upper body forward and across the floor.

Thankfully, all those piles of covers and rugs made for a softened landing, but he was still confused enough to be in a partial daze, left entirely up to his alpha mate more desperately aroused than he’d seen him in a damn good time.

Emphasis on damn good.

Because even as he himself felt a small bubble of nervousness at just how rough those furry hands were treating him, he really didn’t mind as he was rolled over and onto his side. The most he really did mind was when that tasty cock was dislodged from his mouth, but it quickly found itself pressed against Derek’s talon-tipped fingers spreading his ass apart, and then he forgot everything else but how to moan as it split his drowning pussy in two.

And then Derek fucked him, as a thousand times before, as even more after that. The whole doing it on the side, against the carpeted ground thing was a bit unusual, but Stiles certainly wasn’t complaining, as his over-sized stomach was both out of the way and relatively protected in such a position, off to the side and simply brushing against the soft blankets beneath it.

Everything was warm and pleasuring and wonderful, as Derek’s marvellous cock struck him inside at all the right places, and those skilled hands worked everywhere else just as well. Stiles thought he might have orgasmed right when he was penetrated, as it seemed he was wont to do recently, like the pregnancy that turned every other place upon his body more sensitive was doing the same to his cunt.

It mattered little, though, as it seemed he was in the white-hot bliss of climax more often than not, as his alpha was fed up with the teasing and more than happy to do the same right back. Such intense, precisely aimed snaps of his hips, thrusts that struck against his g-spot just as they did his prostate, drilling every drooling membrane of his insides as though trying to dig for and then collect his screaming moans like some precious gem, snarling in victory at every telltale, vice-like grip around his cock that signalled yet another early victory.

And yet, with how hard and ruthless he ploughed his cunt and ass red, what infrequent words his simpler mind could manage just as vile, Derek was so, so gentle when it came to that one, certain part of him.

Ticklish fur of his digits swirling over the taut swell of his skin, leaning down to drag his elongated tongue across it like something smack between a make out straight from a filthy porno, and a gentle, worshipping kiss.

Somehow communicating all that passion in the way he fucked him hard and fast, yet all the revering sweetness such a beast could manage, as even his thrusts seemed to aim slightly away from his womb, and toward his ass, which only made the grinding of his inflating knot all that more torturous on Stiles’ weeping cocklet.

That tongue dragged upward, away from their pups safe in their watery Elysium, and toward the just-as-life-giving tits of his omega. Stiles whined, as this part of him was especially hyper-sensitive and sore almost all the time now, but found that initial pain melted away as though something in Derek’s saliva had a numbing effect upon his breasts.

It very well could have, considering all the other barely-explicable effects bonded mates had on one another. Just as easily excused away as placebo as it could be real, as when Stiles swore he could understand what Derek was trying to say to him, although his lips were obviously busy attaching themselves to one of his hard, swollen nipples.

Again, it very well all could have been bullshit, his mind just making up connections after the fact, and it was probably just Derek so furiously lapping at his tit that made him look, but either way, that was when he made the discovery alongside his mate.

_ Milk. _

It was like Derek was speaking it with his eyes alone, as they stared Stiles right in the eye, even as those hard-hitting thrusts continued wetly slapping against his destroyed cunt. Licking it up right before his unbelieving eyes, white translucent smeared against his tongue before being swallowed right down, and then an expression that could only communicate just how mind-blowingly  _ delicious  _ he must find it.

Stiles couldn’t believe it, really couldn’t. Sure, his tits had gotten bigger, going from the tiny a-cups to something that could actually be recognized more as a proper breast than the perky little thing it once had been, but that didn’t explain at all how he could possibly be producing milk so God damn early into his pregnancy.

His head swam as he tried to think, which was made exponentially harder by the cock still drilling in and out of him at a blinding pace, Derek’s long, ravenous tongue wrapping around his tits to suck what small amount of genuine, actual milk they could get from them, rather than the usual pantomime he would settle for.

Was everything actually that far ahead of schedule? Not just the milestones of prenatal development, but could this mean the entire delivery, birth, would be way sooner than either of them expected, had prepared for?

And why was it milk? Shouldn’t it be that fatty, yellow stuff most milk-producing creatures made prior to the actual, thinner white stuff he saw before him? Colostrum, or something? Even normal omegas were no different, leaking only slightly more of that colostrum stuff only days or weeks before birth, rather than this flat-out, almost watery milk.

It just didn’t make any sense, clearly something was wrong, but no matter how he tried to wrap his brain around it, tried perhaps to strike up some conversation to derive an answer, Derek just wouldn’t stop fucking him, drinking all that sweet, impossible milk straight from his breast.

Oh, to be in the present—the future—and to already know all the answers, to review all the past years in the single blink of an eye, each memory the span of a single millisecond. To remember that sheer terror of that unknown future only with the dampened effect of time upon it, the comfort of it all being past just as intense.

Well, that might be Stiles now, as he skips over more of his life than he’s able to tell to his daughter—one of many, many before her, but then? He couldn’t even dream of it, as he hadn’t the slightest clue of a future seconds ahead, let alone decades.

But in the present—the past—finally, Stiles decided to take Derek’s advice, and just give up. Accepting that he couldn’t know the answer as to what in the world that meant, what was going on, or anything, really, until months from then when the pregnancy was said and done.

Until then, how in the hell would anyone know what the special quirks of a werewolf pregnancy were like? No doctor, nurse, person in the world would seem to, other than perhaps some far-off land or cult well hidden from anyone looking.

So, Stiles let himself go limp, and just enjoyed the ride.

It’s not like it was all that hard, anyway. Once he got over all that thinking and worrying stuff, he found the sensation of Derek suckling on and even nipping at his tit was quite an enjoyable thing, and even though he didn’t understand how it was biologically possible, it was something of a relief to almost seemingly be able to feel that milk flow through his breast and into his mate’s hungry mouth.

For some reason he had a thought that this was like some sort of mating ritual, something that would tie to the two of them closer together. It just made sense, as he watched his alpha drinking from his breast which would do the exact same as it nurtured their future pups. Like some sort of animal version of a promise, an odd but unquestionable dance millennia old.

Then again, just like the whole mind-reading and saliva-numbing thing, it was probably all just sappy bullshit to make himself feel better.

But ah, whatever. It was every bit as euphoric as when Derek ate out his pussy, except now he got the bonus of actually being fucked with his cock  _ while  _ being eaten out, in a way, anyway. And the fact that this was unprecedented, inexplicable, so alien and weird, almost made it more special, enhancing the toe-curling sensations just by the sheer taboo of it.

Because Stiles was sure, that perhaps no other human in history could say they were pregnant with half-werewolf pups, while being fucked by that exact same supernatural but totally real werewolf, while having their breasts sucked dry by the most ferocious mouth in conceivable reality.

Oh, but he was sucked dry, and far too soon, in his opinion. His cunt was still squirting a waterfall on the red cock just as filthy pumping in and out of him on those soft, warm blankets, by the time he gasped as he felt his tits—previously sore and swollen—almost seemed to be light as air, once more. No longer a heavy weight as they were pressed to the side in this odd position, but simply the curvy, soft swells that they were, and should always have been.

He panted with relief, to feel at least that discomfort rid of his body, as he looked to his modest breasts with a newfound admiration. Without the constant, dull ache of them, he found he no longer wished to have those tiny, virgin omega tits he used to have; no, these larger, more mature breasts might actually suit him better, even if he did have to wear a bra now when going out.

Speaking of which, he might  _ really  _ want to wear a bra, if he’s going to be leaking fucking  _ milk  _ like that ever again. Holy fuck, he thought, still squinting through the aftermath of yet another orgasm as his alpha continued pounding him, he really, some fucking how, leaked milk.

Actual milk, that he could still see smeared across the chin of his mate howling over him, white smeared obvious against the black of his long fur. He just fucking breastfed his mate, not even five months in. 

Finally, at some point, Derek found himself sated enough to fuck his knot inside of his mate’s poor, puffy pussy, allowing them both to collapse into a warm but rather comfortable embrace beside each other. Derek the big spoon, of course.

Stiles was still panting as he felt the now incredibly familiar feeling of being pumped full of werewolf sperm, replacing that prior fullness he’d felt in his tits and instead directing it all to his overstuffed womb. Oh well.

“I made… milk?” Stiles puffed, seeming so out of his mind delirious as he looked over his shoulder to a smoother-faced Derek that the man couldn’t help but laugh.

But before Stiles collected his mind enough to get offended and try to swat at him, the alpha replied, “You sure did, baby. And you’d better get used to it.”

“Why’s that? You know something I don’t?”

Derek just slowly shook his head, pulling his mate closer, softly circling his hand around his already large stomach becoming larger by the minute. “No, I’m just saying, whatever’s going on with you, I absolutely adore it. So you better bet I’m going to be drinking every drop of milk or slick you have, all the way until the very day you finally deliver. And then I guess it can be our pups… unless maybe there’s still some to spare.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, unable to resist just how naughty and ridiculous this all was. It was like he really was being transformed, without even having the curse of lycanthropy… maybe that werewolf semen was more special than he’d ever given a serious thought to.

“With how many pups you’ve knocked me up with?” he settled on joking, curling up between his mate and the mess of covers against the bottom of the couch, “I mean, you can try, but I think my body can only hold so much milk, to be honest.”

Derek just snickered, moving his hips to receive not only a soft moan from his mate, but to make his point, as they both recalled the sheer volume of cum all being pumped into his already full womb.

“Alright, dick,” Stiles sighed, “we’ll see, we’ll see… We’ll see just how everything turns out.”

Derek’s smile clicked in his ear, as he rested his head against the back of Stiles’ neck, his messy hair. “Yes, we will. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Btw, that offer of any requests for sexy/other scenes still stands, as will it until this fic is finally over (not for a good few months at least, I project lol), and really, I’ll probably still be interested in Sterek enough to continue writing one-shots in or out of this particular universe long after I’m done, so I could very well still write it up! Only the future will really tell, though ;)


	21. Surprise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Sorry that this was real late, and it’s pretty short, too, aghhh 
> 
> I’ve just been having some trouble working up the willpower to write lately, tbh. Hopefully, it’ll pass and I’ll be able to continue this fic until it’s timely conclusion, but for now I’m gonna write up something sweet for Valentine’s, in, oh, four days x.x Lol, but then I’ll see how I’m feeling... might try taking a break, writing something short and sweet, idk, we’ll see! 
> 
> Till then, here’s this mostly plotty thing, but hopefully satisfying enough in the end! :)

“Happy birthday!”

“Oh my-” Stiles gasped, every thought leaving his head in that way only breathless surprise does, so he nearly tripped on his own two feet just stepping over the tiny ledge that marked the front door.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” he then sputtered out pure, light laughter, as he saw his father grinning directly before him, the rest of the room similarly adorned by smiles of their closest, lifelong neighbours and newfound friends alike.

It was automatic as he blinked away the euphoria of a celebration all his own—one quite expected, as such a thing had happened every year of his life before, but nonetheless just as amazing.

Stepping aside to let in the man who must have been the most important piece of this entire puzzle: the one who had led him off, distracted him long enough the streamers, banners, festivities, and, of course, the cake could be all set up in time for their return back from the unexplained walk through the forest paths.

A small but audible, “Happy birthday, honey,” whispered in a breath against the nape of his neck was the nail in the coffin, as Stiles let loose a wild grin that could only begin to display the unholy amount of joy in his heart.

Oh, it was just perfect, as Derek took his hand, the door shut behind them and leaving them with all the familiar, warm faces gathered in their living room that proved, thankfully, to be of such a capacity to hold such an immense crowd-

But then, he saw him.

And Stiles’ smile didn’t fall, no. His eyes didn’t stop crinkling for all the vibrant happiness still filling them, the room didn’t stop its wondrous laughter that was like music to his ears. Nothing really happened at all.

Other than just the slightest, smallest, twitch of that grin.

Derek knew it immediately. Of course he fucking did.

Perhaps it was just a change in his bonded mate’s scent, pheromones, something omega-alpha like that, but it just as easily could have been those lofty supernatural senses.

Either way, Stiles knew it just a heartbeat after, as Derek’s hand squeezed upon his, just ever-so-slight, but something that pulled his mind right back to reality, nonetheless.

And then they went on pretending absolutely nothing was amiss, as they chatted to colleagues and co-workers and neighbours alike. Hitting up just about everyone for a quick chat before briskly moving onto the next congratulatory couple, just getting around the room about as fast as possible.

“For that cake, huh?” one of their newly acquired distant friends joked, and the birthday boy laughed just as much as his mate did beside him, although the whole thing was more for appearances, than anything else.

What should have been an entirely blissful occasion was turned to one of terse nerves, all under the guise of simple appetite for a slice of that dessert just within the kitchen—technically professionally made by the town’s top baker, technically home-made, as said baker thought it more as a personal gift than a commercial product… or so they said, at least.

Soon enough, though, most of the obligatory greetings were said and done with, and with some shuffling and coordination, the open-air kitchen was utterly swarming in all of those fresh faces, Stiles and Derek, of course, at the middle of it.

The stupidly jolly song was sung by a chorus of slightly out-of-tune voices, the cake was cut, and all was said and done. The cake itself was pretty damn good, but perhaps that was just the mid-pregnancy quirk now affecting Stiles and making just about everything exponentially more flavourful as of late.

Celebrations were had, much joyous laughter and all of that, gifts unwrapped and excitement shown—with or without some level of conscious thought behind such a reaction, of course.

A delightful old time, for sure, until inevitably the cake was but crumbs, the sunlight thin, the party over. Guests filtering through the door at an appropriately respectable pace, depending on their closeness to the one this was all about, in the first place.

Which is to say, eventually, it was no one but Stiles’ father, who might as well have not even been present past his first few drinks and was now out in the backyard probably ruminating about life, Derek joining the old man to ensure he didn’t actually pass out, and the lone guest who was the source of all the silent unease left cooped up with Stiles himself.

Stiles had half been hoping he’d simply leave, but it became obvious as the hours slogged on that that was just not going to happen. No, it was clear his old friend came here, for good reason, however exactly that was, and that he wasn’t going to leave without an actual darn conversation.

Scott and his stubborn heroism, always having to be the upstanding, moral protagonist. Couldn’t just save Stiles from this one embarrassing moment of confrontation, because that would be allowing fear and anxiety to rule one’s life... or something similarly drab as that.

Well, for as much as Stiles breathed a heavy sigh as he came to terms that yes, he would rather talk to him than have him escorted off the property or something insane like that, he had to admit, Scott was right.

That fear in Stiles’ heart, it was really misplaced, at best. Sure, it was awkward, seeing your childhood best friend fro the first time in almost a year, him looking only even more put together than he already did upon leaving for his college half the continent away, and Stiles looking... well...

“Hey, Scott,” Stiles began with a well-practised, well-placed grin, twiddling his fingers over his waist as though that would somehow distract from the all-too-obvious change in his shape.

“Oh, hi, Stiles!” Scott beamed right back, holding his obligatory soda from the bulk party pack aside, arms obviously opening to invite his friend in for a friendly hug, just like old times.

Only, now, Stiles just stared at the gesture, almost as though it was foreign, like he’d never damn well seen it before. He let out a huff as he realized with wide eyes how weird he himself was acting—it was just a hug, after all—but then again-

“Ah, sorry...” Scott laughed, the awkwardness apparently catching up to him, too, now, as he himself came to his own conclusion, “I guess I’ve never had to think about hugging someone who’s so... you know,” he waved vaguely up and down, although his eyes were anywhere but the actual obstruction for said interaction. “I mean, how would you even do that?”

“Uh, well, I mean, you can, but it is a little, yeah, heh, difficult...” Stiles trailed off, glancing to the side as he bit his lip. God, this was just torturous...

“Er, I mean, I saw your posts... on Facebook and all that.”

“Yeah?” Stiles tried, managing to look back as his mind was temporarily taken off the not-so-proverbial elephant in the room and towards the more mundane thing of social media, his old friends’ inane posts both humorous and irritating alike filling his mind.

But Scott had to go and bring the whole thing back on that source of tension, as he continued almost boldly once more, “Yeah, so I knew you started dating Derek Hale, was his name? And, I don’t know, I guess I was always too surprised or something to comment on it... or message you... or anything.”

“Mm... hm,” Stiles hummed slowly, nodding in time. Not quite sure what to say to all that.

“Anyway, I saw you were, yeah, expecting! And I think that’s just, amazing, y’know? And spring break went pretty long at my college, so I decided, eh, what the hell, I’ll get out of my parents’ hair for a bit and see you on your big, special day.”

“Special day?”

“Your birthday! I’ve only been to every single one since I could remember, so why not the 19th? Sure, might not be as important as the 18th, or maybe the 21st, but it’s still pretty important, right?”

Stiles forced a chuckle, nodding politely. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Definitely correct on that. I, uh, thank you... for being here. It’s nice to see you, in person, after so long. Or hear from you at all, really. It’s just nice,” he smiled.

Apparently out of things to prattle on about, Scott just let the silence between them grow from the already suffocating stillness it was to a deafening roar of absolutely nothing. The space between them despite standing just feet apart in the living room felt more like leagues of oceans apart.

So obvious and so far had their paths dealigned, and both of them either too courteous and/or cowardly to point it out, it left between them only the void where just months ago their had been such fellowship, kinship, lifelong friendship.

Stiles would say he was sad to see things turn out this way—certainly, it wasn’t as his starry-eyed self ever would have imagined, as he waved all of his friends goodbye on their separate journeys across the states, Scott’s most heartbreaking of all—but, honestly, within that moment, other emotions seemed to build in him to the point it drowned out that bleak nothing of disappointment.

Say, every time he did post something online, no matter how personal or generic the comment, that feeling of annoyance that Scott of all people never did reply. Other friends did, new and old, near or far, and Stiles had even had the conversation—in varying levels of subtlety and civility—of just how swift this sudden change in the course of his life was.

So perhaps there was some real anger brewing under his skin, as he looked to the one he’d grown with his entire life, been through thick and thin, up and down, only for him to leave him in the dust, trapped back home without so much as a like or a fleeting thought of a message for entire months.

But, no. Stiles knew he shouldn’t feel like that, knew that just as much of those emotions could be real as they could simply be exaggerated by the high hormones of a first-time pregnancy, let alone fabricated entirely. Scott didn’t leave him behind any more than Stiles had been trapped in Beacon Hills, all of that was all his decision, however ill-advised it might have been.

And, besides, that was why Stiles was here, now. Why he’d met Derek, fell in love with him, been permanently bonded and marked by him. Really, he had nothing to regret, and nothing to be vengeful over, nor regretful of.

But God damn if it wasn’t hard, being stood in front of your friend who had seen him only one way his entire life, only for him to basically do a drop-off-the-cliff one-eighty or some shit, and go right against any gung-ho, do-it-himself attitude and wind up  _ very  _ pregnant and huddled up in a cabin in some forest with a werewolf for a mate.

Sweet lord. Stiles needed to sit down.

And right on time, “Is something wrong?” as the slide of the glass door slid twice, and then, for better or for worse, his mate was sat next to him, close, but not quite as close as perhaps he would ideally like.

Stiles just laughed a little, waving in the universal way that meant nothing was really amiss, but the quiet told Derek everything he needed to know.

The were then sighed, facing forward to the coffee table as, oddly enough, he waved distantly toward the armchair. And perhaps just as odd, Scott from across the room actually followed the mute order, although not looking toward Stiles nor the alpha between them.

“So...” Scott heaved a heavy, heavy breath, as though exerted from a long race, squeezed out of him under the force of a million weights.

Derek glanced to Scott, and then shifted to the side, taking Stiles’ soft hands within his own as his shimmering blue eyes stared him head-on, with an intense, almost too intimate for proper company, sort of stare.

But, well, Stiles still can hardly believe what happened next, and it’s been eighteen God damned years he’s been living with it.

“Scott is a werewolf.”

“What?!”

Almost just as surprising as Derek suddenly blurting that blasphemous, in no way true, absolutely impossible, in any good world unbelievable, statement-

Was that it wasn’t Stiles alone that cried out in utter confusion immediately at it.

Stiles stared at his old, good, bestest friend to see an expression that almost perfectly mirrored his own, save for how Scott’s mouth stayed firmly shut, unlike Stiles’ which was hanging loose as though halfway between beginning to argue and letting out a literal cry of complete shock.

Then he blinked. And then he glared right at Derek, daring to shove a finger into the muscle of Derek’s chest that, of course, didn’t give even slightly.

“Why did you say that?” he tried shout-whispering, although it was more of a regular, perfectly comprehensible conversational tone to the apparent “werewolf” sitting across from them. “Oh my God, Derek, I haven’t told Scott—or anyone else for that matter—absolutely anything! Oh-”

Stiles tried the nervous laughter as his gaze shifted past his mate toward Scott, going for the “nothing’s wrong” hand motion once more and prattling on, “Haha, sorry about that, Scott, ya know, Derek can actually be quite the trickster when he wants to! Ha, werewolves, I mean, who could imagine-”

“Half-werewolf.”

Stiles just turned to Derek in utter disbelief, although instead of bewilderment, now it was more so the fact the man was apparently deciding to dig that already deep trench even fucking deeper.

“That’s why he can’t tell that I am one, too. I mean, he probably can, but only a little. Just enough that he’s aware there might be something wrong, but not enough to act on it; just the slightest difference in smell from a normal human, or a normal alpha, am I right, Scott?”

Scott looked terrified.

And speechless.

And guilty.

“I-I don’t-”

“Sure you do,” Derek only marched steadily onward, metaphorically speaking, of course, as merely his eyes seemed enough to drill holes in Scott’s demeanour, as the three of them simply stayed sat on their separate furnishings. “And it seems you never thought to tell Stiles that, either, even though, from what he tells me, you two seemed thick as thieves, during childhood.

“But, ah, I understand. Had I myself been born with this curse, I doubt I’d jump at the chance to go telling anyone about it, especially one—no offence, sweetheart—as much of a gab as Stiles.”

“... No offence taken,” Stiles murmured, clearly offended.

“So, I get it, I really do. Was your mother the werewolf, or your father? Or maybe it skips a generation?” Derek grinned, clearly amused. As though toying with his prey, who was shock still in the armchair he himself had sat in, a house he just had to visit, despite all the signs and undercurrents of stress you would think would’ve told him otherwise.

As much his fault as anyone else, really.

“My... father, was. He was an alpha, pure-blood, too, but he was a drunk, couldn’t control it, and one day, when he lashed out at my mom again, I just... couldn’t take it. We fought, I won, he ran off and never came back. Nothing else to say, really.”

“Sounds like, to me, there’s a lot to say,” Stiles said, as both the werewolves turned to look him over. Hands folded neatly in his lap, he stared Scott directly in the eyes. Communicating without words, the betrayal, hushed anger, disappointment, still-fading remnants of disbelief, that this was all some dream, some well-played ruse on his birthday, but above all that, simple sadness.

Scott let out a terse breath, and nodded.

He was, indeed, a half-werewolf. Mother not one at all, similarly to Stiles never having known a thing about the supernatural beyond fantasies and stories, as they should remain—until she met, of course, Scott’s future deadbeat of a father.

He used the extra strength and the speed and so on to charm her, but above anything else, it was the innate seduction of the unknown that drew her, as Scott imagined many humans before and after her fell prey to, as well.

She was a beta, rather than an omega, fortunately, so their offspring was a single one. At least his dad stuck around for the birth, and about fifteen years after, Scott scoffed, but it was clear the carnal drive for something simply more was getting to the old man.

He still has some kinder memories of his father, normal, childish ones, where he still smiled with all the joy a married man should have. It just seemed that slowly, as the years slipped by, that person faded away, until there was nothing but a shell of a shadow ghosting in and out of his own house, much to the hopeless dismay of his wife and child.

Perhaps it was just the wonderings of mid-life crisis, but Scott had always thought it was the were more than anything that constantly egged him on inside, pushing him to violence, entire weeks away without so much as an excuse for his forlorn family, and, ultimately, the one last nudge he needed to build up what courage he actually had, and leave them entirely.

It could have been anything, really. Maybe it was simply a man wanting a taste of a new life, or maybe it was the beast thirsting for a pack of his own, one that he could control with an iron fist, as an alpha should.

To Scott however, no matter how he tried to get into the head of his long-gone father figure, it just never really clicked to him. Maybe because he himself was a beta, or because he was only half-wolf, or because he was simply too young and optimistic to understand how one could so heartlessly cast his own loved ones behind, leave them in the dust, so his mother had to raise and provide for the two of them all on her own, despite her own confusion and sorrow over the whole thing.

So, yeah, Scott’s father was a real dick, end of story. Maybe the supernatural curse had something to do with it, maybe not, but beyond how it hypothetically could have spurred the man into instability and eventually fleeing, Scott knew little of it. Not how his father came to become, or perhaps be born a werewolf, not the potential of there being others like them in the world, nothing. The old man was always tight-lipped, and Scott never quite curious enough to dig into it enough to figure it out.

Well, he still did have the fleeting memories of coming into his powers, or, rather, realizing with the growing intelligence a toddler slowly garnered, that he even had them in the first place.

And this is about where Stiles perked up, just a little.

Ah, yes. He might not remember it himself, as his first permanent memories came around kindergarten and the age of five, but if his mother is to be believed, he’d always had something special in him. Obviously, since he was part fucking werewolf, but anyway.

Stiles asked him something about if she ever told him anything about the pregnancy, and after a second or two of connecting the dots, Scott sighed and decided to answer the odd question.

A little. Just that he kicked a lot during pregnancy—fussy before even having a day on this earth or something like that—and that he was a big baby when he was born-

But did she have him in a hospital, or at home? Were there nurses? Mid-wives?

Scott shrugged, much to Stiles’ audible consternation.

He’d ask, he’d ask. Anyway, yep, he definitely had the powers of inhuman strength and heightened senses and all that since birth. Didn’t really know how to control it, since he was a literal baby, but it didn’t matter that much, as in the end it only amounted to a few destroyed toys and the like, nothing serious, though.

But he didn’t grow up with siblings, Stiles gasped.

Scott paused, and then confirmed the abrupt statement. Yep, and he didn’t really go to daycare or anything much, either, as his parents figured explaining how a one-year-old could possibly rip a doll in two and then play with the fluffy stuffing inside, was a bit more than could ever really be believable.

Oh, God. No daycare. With triplets? 24/7 parenting, 365 days a year? Oh lord.

... Yeah, well, anyway, his powers grew exponentially as he grew, too, but thankfully growing self-awareness and strict manners meant he learned to control them just like everything else. As aforementioned, he has memories himself all the way since childhood of having to dull his immense strength mixed in with finger painting in first grade; resisting the urge to quite literally punch a hole through the wall when he became irritated blurring together with laughing with his closest, chubby-faced friend.

That, of course, being Stiles, who couldn’t help but smile at his own accompanying memories. Ugh, he was supposed to be mad at him!

He never told anyone, for the record. Not even a word, a hint, anything like that. Sure, sometimes he might have messed up and left an indent in the swing set from where his little hand had miraculously squeezed hard enough to crush painted metal, but hell if he ever admitted to it. He learned quickly to disguise his slip-ups in any way he could, and, thankfully, fellow seven-year-olds were the type to still believe in a bearded man laying out presents and eating cookies, so it wasn’t that hard.

It was quite natural, really. He thinks his parents must have told him, at some point, to hide what made him different, just in case he might become front-page news or whisked away to some lab somewhere. But he doesn’t really remember a moment like that, not really. Concealing his powers seemed to come just as naturally to him as climbing a tree, which is to say, not without its fair share of bumps and bruises, but nothing he couldn’t bandage right up.

When he was a teenager was things really started to take a drastic turn, though. Growth hormones and puberty was bad enough, but add onto it sudden mood swings that had him staring bewildered at his own sudden claws and fangs?

Because, yep, he only started being able to transform when he was around thirteen, fourteen. It was the source of much embarrassment, but so was practically everything in those years, so it wasn’t really  _ that  _ big a deal. Okay, it was a big deal, but nothing jumping up to excuse himself to the restroom mid-class for a few breathing exercises couldn’t handle.

Besides, he never fully transformed, no matter how consumed by wrath or sorrow over whatever dumb teenage drama was going on he became. It was never more than long, dark claws, pointed teeth of a carnivore, an impressive but short-length beard across his face that matched the rest of the fur that grew to cover his entire, still human-framed body.

But it was nothing compared to his father, who, at that point, was still in the picture. Flung into rage from whatever happened to piss him off that drunken binge, he became a hulking mass of muscle obscured by long, gleaming fur. Snarling and frothing at the mouth, he truly became more beast than man, as it seemed to affect every fibre of his being, all the way down to his thoughts and impulses.

With such long, sharp daggers of nails, and his teeth more like a shark’s, bloodthirsty and bared, there was no doubt in Scott’s mind that a full-on, alpha werewolf such as him could outmatch any number of mere men or even half-weres. So easy it would be laughable, as he could rip them apart with the slightest movement, at lightning speed.

But, it seemed, something within even that dirtbag of an ex-human kept him from doing it. Some small worry, concern, or perhaps genuine empathy, that prevented him from murdering his family and racing off into the night. He wouldn’t have been caught, if he had half a brain about the aftermath, free then to live a life all on his own, wherever in the world he wanted, with no alimony or divorce papers to weigh him down.

And yet, of course, he didn’t.

After a quiet pause, Scott admitted with a sigh, it was another thing he really didn’t think he’d ever understand.

But yep, that was pretty much the thick of it. He still hadn’t told anyone—until now, obviously—and since puberty, his powers hadn’t gotten noticeably much stronger, and he himself smarter about how to hide them, control his emotions to not begin wolfing out where inappropriate. He was a college student just like anyone else, nothing different, nothing special, just like anyone else. All in all, it really wasn’t that big of a deal, honestly.

Stiles breathed a sigh of relief so long and loud it left him dizzy after.

“But have you ever met another werewolf?” Derek just had to ruin that brand new peace.

Scott was silent for a moment, and then said precisely, as though trying to convey his honesty in every syllable, “No. Other than my father, and now, you, never. Not pure, not part, and if there ever had been, I would’ve missed it. I could barely even tell you were, to be honest.”

“Then why did you come here?”

Scott laughed, exasperated as he put his hands to the side, “What? It’s Stiles’ birthday! I happened to be in town for spring break, thought I’d swing by, just like I told him-”

“I knew it already, you know. Just from the few photos and videos Stiles showed me, the stories about you.”

“Knew... what?”

“That you were a werewolf, probably not a pure one, though.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!” Stiles shouted, glaring right at him.

Derek merely shrugged. “Just like he probably was from the photos you posted of me, he probably wasn’t entirely convinced. If I told you your best childhood friend had actually been a werewolf this entire time, and then I turned out wrong, that would’ve been pretty bad for all of us.”

“But you just blurted it out anyway, just about, oh, an hour ago?!”

“That’s because, sweetie, he’s here, in the flesh,” Derek waved toward the young man with eyes wide as saucers, gripping the plush armrests as though for dear life, “I can smell him, see how his eyes look back at mine with knowing. It’s like a fifth sense, the sense of another were.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, even as he toyed with the little ring around Derek’s finger, “This is all so ridiculous...”

“Well, that’s just the way life is, isn’t it?” Derek grinned down at him, about to seal the deal with a kiss when both of them turned to the third wheel violently coughing in his seat.

“Sorry, sorry, I just- honestly, Stiles, I think it’s great what you got going on here and all,” he motioned without looking to the couple practically glued side to side on the couch, Stiles’ legs spilling atop Derek’s solid lap, “but maybe not right in front of me, eh, buddy? And uh... I’ll call you, later, Stiles, okay?”

Scott’s almost pleading smile, as well as the rest of his past behaviour struck Stiles as somewhat... odd. Like there was a piece of the puzzle he was missing, something being hidden from him, a fifth sense that he lacked, perhaps.

But hell if he’d turn down the opportunity to speak to his best friend after months of radio silence, he thought with a wide grin, as he uncrossed his legs from Derek’s to rush to a haphazard hug of said friend.

Scott seemed just as surprised, but quickly softened in the familiar scent and touch of his lifelong friend, even able to ignore how the hug was mostly limited to their upper halves and that he was awkwardly still sitting down.

Derek, meanwhile, looked on. Just watching from his place still upon the sofa, eyes pinned right onto Scott’s, which widened as they realized the intense stare.

It was like a glare, but not exactly. A hardened gaze, with some sort of silent threat, but without the fury of daggers that had been in it before, when he hadn’t known the truth of Scott’s past or his reasons for being here.

Then again, with that furrowed brow, the unblinking blue that somehow seemed gold as it caught the last light of sunset, perhaps he didn’t fully buy into Scott simply being here for Stiles’ big day. That perhaps, despite his weakened senses from being a half-breed and all, Scott had known even before coming here that there was simply something... off about Derek.

But then again, as Stiles moved back and Scott immediately mirrored his friend’s grin, maybe it was nothing at all.

After all, Stiles had had his back turned and all his energy put into giving a warm, welcoming embrace, so it’s not like he saw any of that! Only a few days later, when Scott fortunately did call, did he get the recounting of the exchange, as well as... some other stuff.

But all of that was in the future, as far as the current time in the past was concerned! And so, a blissfully ignorant Stiles took a few steps back from his friend just in time for the entire trio of them to be startled by a sudden sound, looking to the veranda.

As expected, it was Stiles’ own loveable father, fallen right onto his ass in his own blitzed state before the three of them rushed to get him back to his feet.

“So,” Stiles grinned sheepishly as he looked up, father still flung partly over his shoulder on his wobbly, deer-like legs, “can you drive my dad back home?”

Derek and Scott both glanced to the other, as though whoever did the honours was somehow the winner in their dear Stiles’ book.

Ultimately, however, it was of course Scott who claimed the prize, allowing the whiskey-soaked man into his car and off into the sunset, only a small detour to ensure he entered the house safely before returning to his own family home.

Well, Derek did get to claim the actual prize of fingering Stiles’ pink cunt with the vigour only slight, unnecessary jealousy can prompt, so maybe it was even, in the end.

All said and done, resting on their soft, warm bed, tied up in a reassuring embrace with a firm knot relaxing him dangerously closer to slumber with every dull pulse of semen, breasts reduced back to their normal, un-swollen, non-aching size, Stiles was almost happier than ever before.

Part of it was his perfect alpha mate, of course, who was still licking his lips from the meal of his pussy and tits both, the latter of which especially seemed to be becoming not only thankfully more plentiful, but thicker, creamier, to boot.

But part of it, too, was the birthday. Even if his mind had been on other things, in the moment, it always warmed the heart to see, visibly see, and be surrounded by, just the sheer volume of loved ones who genuinely cared for him. Wanted the best for him, even if they didn’t know the couple personally, outside of work or strict public personas.

It was just nice to know people cared, even for the boy who had once mowed their lawns every hot summer, shovelled snow every winter, raised their young even as he himself was growing, all until he eventually grew into the fine young man they all knew he would become, beginning a family all his own.

And Scott, to have him back in his life, even if it was with the still-incredulous revelation that he’d been hiding such an obvious secret right beneath his nose for years...

Yeah, no, it was nice to have Scott back. Hopefully, he’d call soon.

But until then, it was just him, his mate, and their however-many pups, with a much clearer, more optimistic future ahead of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	22. Phone Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Ta da! Here it is, for Valentine’s Day <3 There’s some... intense stuff, but it all pays off with some pretty sweet, kinky sex, if I do say so myself, so I hope you’ll enjoy! ^^

Stiles waited impatiently for the call for the next three days.

Tapping his finger rhythmically upon the armrests, humming a song only he could hear just to himself, to try and bide the time and distract from the boredom. Only the television’s lacklustre programming there to try and busy his mind, although given the way his leg would never stop bouncing, it didn’t seem to be working too well.

All alone in the house growing bigger and more finished by the day, glancing anxiously out the window just as he looked back to the screen of meaningless dancing pixels, without a certain mate to truly quell his constantly overworking brain. It was these hours, where they were apart, that he almost felt he loved his most, like a cruel reminder in the boring silence between events that he’d always come to loathe, his entire life.

So, nothing new, really. But God, how he just wished there could be something to do, to actually constructively worry about... if only it could already be five months in the future, when he’d have his hands full of newborns who’d no doubt constantly whine and cry about everything.

Well, okay, maybe he wasn’t quite _that_ desperate just yet, but give him maybe a few weeks...

Every buzz of a notification upon his phone was like an alarm to him, picking the damn thing up only to groan as he fell back to the mid-slide right off the couch. So many useless scam calls answered with a loud, “Scott?!” only to about pound his thumb right through the touch screen as the inevitable robotic voice began.

It was torture, having to wait. Especially given his newfound, extremely comfortable life, pah. One where he’d stopped all the jobs, favours, and even some of the more laboursome chores, after his mate’s persistent badgering him over it.

But oh, to be fair to him, Stiles was now halfway through the pregnancy—if we’re still expecting a regular-length one, that is—showing through even the most forgiving of dress-wear, abdomen so round with life it was becoming a cumbersome obstacle even to himself, just in simple day-to-day tasks. He loved it as much as he pretended to dislike it, though, really, so he too thought it best to try and stay relaxed and cosy as much as possible.

Stiles concluded similarly that he should have more patience when it came to the awaited phone call, because Scott had said he’d be the one to call Stiles, after all, and not the other way around. Well, and because Stiles had already tried calling Scott’s old number, only to hear it had been disconnected, because curiosity, truly, did kill the cat.

Well, ultimately, it made sense, considering the guy had moved dozens of states away to go to his little esteemed college for veterinary sciences or whatever it was he was doing exactly, but still. Even a little message would be nice, some reassurance that a call would come, or that perhaps Scott even had his number at all so Stiles could stop his constant worrying, as he pouted scrolling through the social media feeds, only feeling emptier and emptier with every other person’s humble bragging about their lives... he should really stop looking at this stuff so much, to be honest-

Stiles’ eyes widened at the default ringtone suddenly springing to life within the room, drowning out the subpar drama on the flatscreen and then some, so loud it was like a siren filling the entire living space as Stiles immediately lunged for the old thing.

Then he furrowed his brow, closed his mouth, and took a deep breath of pre-let-down resignation.

This would be nothing but another sales call, he told himself, shutting his eyes in concentration as he nodded at the sombre words. A nonsensical statement, pieced together by some cheap software funded some fucking how by some fucking one some fucking where, and that, was that.

So it was with a straight face he answered the unknown number with its foreign area code, staying silent so as to allow that robot voice to give itself away, or perhaps it would be the completely silent type of nuisance call that was even more perplexing.

“Stiles?”

“Scott!” came the immediate shout, as Stiles quite literally jumped to his feet as his barely contained prayers were answered. “Eh, I-I mean,” he inevitably flustered right after, feeling somewhat embarrassed of himself as he sat back down on the couch and chuckled nervously, “er, sorry, I probably blew out the speaker, didn’t I?”

“... A little bit,” came the expectedly worn-out reply.

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh, filled with relief to finally have the opportunity to actually talk to his old friend once more, for the first time in way too damn long. “So, how are you doing? Your fancy vet school treating you well? Oh, I mean, you’re still doing that, right?”

“Yes, Stiles, I am. It’s going... pretty well, bu-”

“Oh, tell me all about it! Classes, projects, boring tests and stuff like that- and is that one teacher that always talked so slow and monotonously it put half the kids to sleep still there, or has he finally gotten the chop over, y’know, the months you’ve been too busy to call me?”

“... I’m sensing some animosity, I think-”

“Haha, what would make you think that?” Stiles tittered coyly, even putting on the face although Scott obviously couldn’t see the overly sweet visage.

Scott just sighed, clearing his throat before continuing his even tone, almost rivalling Derek in the way he always kept a bottle on most of his emotions, “Look, Stiles, I’m sorry. I really am. But, back in November, December, whatever, when you weren’t answering any of my messages or calls, I was really worried. So I finally caved enough to call your dad, and find out you were just on some vacation with that Derek guy-”

“My dad told you?!” Stiles snapped, before shaking his head, because of course he had, and there was no point in denying in now. “Okay, so, yes, I did go with Derek for about a week and a half on something which I guess you could label a roadtrip, but, really, it was more like he was futilely running for his life, and I was just trying to see if there was some way I could make it not so futile, which I did, by the way, which is why we’re still both alive and not dead.”

“Running for his life?” Scott sounded confused, “What was he running from?”

“Oh, it’s a loooong story, and I’m not really in the mood to get into it all right here, right now, but to put it shortly, he became a werewolf from being in a ‘pack’ of these three other dirtbags in New York who decided to turn on him after they all had... a falling out.”

Now came the normal amount of suspicion of any realist in Scott’s voice, “So they chased after him, all the way from New York to fucking California? And you willingly went along with him, even though you could’ve easily died, from the sound of it?”

“Well, to answer the first question, yes, because they were crazy or bored or something like that, and as for the second one... Don’t judge me, okay? He was just nice, and seemed like a genuine guy, and I just wanted to help him... And I was bored.”

“Of course you were,” Scott sighed, exasperated. “But, okay, questionable life choices aside, you’re here, and you’re alive. Which is good.”

“At least we can agree on that,” Stiles joked.

“No, it is. I am glad that I got to see you again, and that we can talk right now, privately. It’s just that... I don’t know, seeing pictures of you with him, and then you were already mated and, well, you know...”

Stiles nodded, his turn now to sigh out quietly, “Yeah... you’re a little jealous, is that it?”

“What?! I-I-no, sorry, Stiles-”

Stiles cackled with laughter, “Ah, man, I’m just joking! But, seriously, maybe on some level, like a purely, nostalgic friendship one, you were? I mean, I can at least see a little more where you were coming from: I disappear, make you worry, only to reappear with an alpha, with whom I start building a life and home together, not a year into our relationship. Am I right?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Stiles nodded, humming affirmatively. “And not only am I pretty much irreversibly pregnant with multiples of his pups at this point, but to complicate all matters just that much more, he’s a full-on werewolf. And I guess you knew that, somehow, at least a little bit, from the very first picture I posted together with him?”

There was a pause, and then Scott’s voice came clear and honest even through the compression of the line, “Honestly, yes. Yes to all of it. I knew he was more than a human, just by looking at his eyes, but I wasn’t sure what in the world that could mean. Like I told you before, I’ve never known anyone or anything supernatural aside from my father, and if I weren’t one myself, I might’ve been able to write the whole existence of werewolves as it should be, fantasy. But since I am, and always have been, I can’t do that, at least, not for the foreseeable future.”

“ ‘Foreseeable future’?” Stiles sputtered, brows furrowing, “What do you mean? Like, you-”

“I want a cure, yes. To put it simply.”

“But... why?”

Scott took a second to audibly breath deeply in, then coolly out. “Because, you just don’t get it, Stiles. I understand you might think you’re in love with Derek, and that him being a werewolf is so cool and all, but it really isn’t. And the more I think about it, the more worried I get about the specifics of your relationship with him-”

Stiles just couldn’t stay silent and let himself be run over like this, especially with the still-scathing blow of “you might _think_ you’re in love”, and so interrupted frantically, “Now, w-wait a second, Scott!-”

But Scott was just as quick to cut right back in, “No, _you_ wait a second, Stiles. It’s not just cute or interesting or whatever excuse you want to make it into, it’s downright stupid for an omega to do what you’re doing with an alpha—a werewolf alpha, no less—who you barely know-and, oh, I know you’re gonna say you know him well, but you just _think_ you know him well.

“In reality, you don’t. You just can’t. I don’t care how many hours you’ve spent with the guy, all the deep conversations you’ve had, none of that. In reality, you’ve only been dating him for less than a year- and, if we’re talking actually _publicly_ dating, then it’s even fucking less. And I and everyone around you, at that party, we’ve all always known you to be impulsive and pretty short-sighted, but this? You can’t go back from it, you really can’t. Sure, you might’ve just admitted you can’t, but I can’t help but think you don’t really understand the pure amount of permanent damage you’ve done to your life, in the case you discover your fairy tale life actually _might_ not work out exactly how you’ve dreamed it to.

“I mean, I wonder, how did you two even get together? Because I can’t help but think a long month of hand-holding leading up to first kisses isn’t exactly the way it played out, considering everything else-”

“No!” Stiles shook his head violently, gritting his teeth with hot tears beginning in his eyes, as he just couldn’t take it, not this fucking far- “Shut up, Scott, don’t you dare fucking talk about-”

“So, it’s true, isn’t it?” his best friend only continued on, cold and even, only the slightest hint of actual rage, envy, sorrow, whatever it was, in his voice. “You let him mate you when you went into your first heat ever. Didn’t you?”

From Scott’s end, the line was utterly silent, other than the panting of breath, the shaky sniffling of pitiful weeping.

“I knew it. Just like my mother, and my father; what those beasts do to take advantage of innocent human beings, it’s absolutely unforgivable. I can only honestly feel sorry for how you’ve been utterly exploited, Stiles. And trust me, a few months, years, however long it takes for you to realize what a power-hungry monster you’ve fallen in love with, then you’ll truly understand, that I only really want the best for you-”

Sobbing with a vile mixture of confusion, hurt, and betrayal, Stiles thrusted the phone away from his ear, immediately deafening all the repulsive words still attempting to spew forth from its speakers. And with pure fury behind his every muscle, he smashed his index finger on the “hang up” button hard enough to send warning signals of pain all the way to his chaos-strewn mind, which was left uncaring toward it, or anything else.

He muted his phone with lingering feelings of anger behind it when it started to ring, knowing the attempted caller all too well, and, quite frankly, never wanting to fucking hear from him ever again.

And so he was left in the disquiet of lonely daytime television, and, of course, his own pathetic crying.

~~~

“Stiles, I’m home!” Derek called out as he entered the foyer, pressing off his shoes one by one as he let out a low sigh, satisfied and yet exhausted from a long day of a job well done, yet another promotion almost assured, if the way his boss was piling on the work as though to test him was anything to go by, anyway.

There was no answer, which was slightly unusual, but not so much that Derek immediately was flung into worry. No, it was far more likely that Stiles was simply waiting for him in the living space, or perhaps daydreaming upon their queen’s bed with his earbuds in again.

And so, as he allowed the thoughts and worries of the past daylight hours to slide away, replaced with much more comfortable, homely ones, he took the few steps past the hanging hooks and organizational drawers and toward the living room.

Only to see, well, nothing.

TV off, everything all neat and tidy, as though it had never been used in the eight hours since he’d left. And, obviously, not a Stiles in sight.

He pursed his lips slightly as his eyes scanned toward the kitchen—blessedly easy to perceive in its entirety with the open design of it Stiles had been vying for—only to come up short, yet again.

Of course, it didn’t mean much. The scent of his lover was still full in the room, his keen senses enough to make him quite sure that Stiles, had, in fact, been here in the past few hours, at least.

It was far, far more likely that there was absolutely nothing wrong, that unlike the perhaps 70% of times where Stiles would answer him from wherever he happened to be immediately, and then the good 20% he’d just be resting in the living room, patting him to join him on the sofa, this was the 10% of times, where Stiles would be in some other room of the house, unable to respond.

Again, probably just slacking off again with those damned earbuds clogging his brain... but still.

And so he continued padding along the polished floors within his little socks, but with considerably more determined hurry than ever before.

And as he continued down that hall growing longer by the week—more and more rooms that would one day be hopefully filled with life growing all its own—hearing no sounds of such life in the present, his pace grew quicker and quicker.

No running water or singing from the misty shower, no low whir of the laundry or even the light, heart-throbbingly adorable sounds of his omega’s quiet, peaceful slumber-

“Derek,” Stiles greeted him instantly as he flung the door open, cross-legged on the bed as though nothing were amiss at all, “welcome home, honey~”

“Stiles, where were y-”

“Just here. Waiting for you. I thought it might be funnier that way,” he giggled softly, before turning to fully face his alpha watching him from just a few feet away in the door frame, nothing but empty space separating them as he was on the very closest edge of the bed.

“I got the call from Scott... it went... not quite the way I had expected, but ah, you don’t need to worry about that, and neither should I, really!”

Derek’s brow furrowed hard, Stiles’ words doing nothing to calm him down, as they shouldn’t. “St-”

“Look, dear,” Stiles hushed his ever-doting mate, “we don’t have to think about that, or anything else, right now. Weren’t you wondering why I was sitting here, in the bedroom, all alone, with this on?” he smiled in the same way he had when Derek had entered the room: with a shallow air of coyness, but beneath that an obvious tilted smirk of invitingly deep, dark _knowing._

Derek felt the looming threat of lustful distraction taking him over, but try to resist Stiles’ obvious deceitful allure all he could, he must admit, he did want to know why exactly he was wearing that black silk robe over his entire body.

So Stiles merely giggled, said, “I’ll take your tense silence as a yes,” and promptly uncrossed his legs, dainty fingers slowly moving to the centre of the robe as he stared deeply into his mate’s amusingly suspicious eyes.

“Well, it’s quite obvious, when you think about it,” Stiles sing-songed, as those long, thin fingers slowly, oh-so-tortuously slowly, worked to push the fabric like a theatre curtain to either side, revealing at first to Derek’s bird’s eye angle merely the expected naked paleness of his clavicle. “I’m not really sure how we haven’t done it already, to be honest with you...”

At Stiles’ enticing, mysterious words, and under his hands already expert in the art of striptease, Derek, at this point, was already utterly enraptured.

A lost cause a mere minute in, he really should have been embarrassed, but more so, he was surprised when Stiles parted the robe further to reveal a slip of lace across his chest that didn’t move, stayed in stark contrast to the night of the still-moving gown in its white swirls of fresh moonlight, only a few shades lighter than Stiles’ own flesh.

And as more and more of it was revealed past the dark flowing ripples of the robe, that only cemented rather than dispelled Derek’s assumptions, as he might have wished. It was a see-through, lacy bra, barely white at its most opaque parts, but more so practically transparent to show off the skin beneath, especially at the nipples, which were actually fully exposed in a purposeful hole upon each cup, hard and blushing pink, as though teasing him as well.

Of course, with his breasts growing heavier and larger by the day with the already miraculous volume of milk swelling steadily within them, Derek had seen Stiles in a bra before, many a time.

But normally, it was nothing more than the typical, suitably nice-looking but not particularly eye-catching, more for its practical use of support than anything else, monochrome affair. Put on before Stiles had to go out, say to join his mate for an errand run or an out to a restaurant.

Simply something to get out of the way to feel up those tits that belonged to him the moment they arrived home, to be tossed somewhere in the scramble from the entrance to the bedroom and promptly forgotten about, as with any other article of clothing.

But those? That meticulously-styled, teasingly transparent, hyper-feminine strip of lingerie barely containing his mate’s blossoming breasts?

No, that was surely something to be savoured. Something that should stay on, no matter how rough or desperate the fucking got, for it was clearly made just for such a sinful act, purely to accentuate the most forbidden of features, to heighten the taboo that made sex so exciting.

By and large, the same could have always been said of Stiles’ undergarments, up to that point. Given the lack of a substantial package for most omegas, and the more pressing issues of having a hyper-fertile cunt, it was quite normal for the rare males of the gender to opt for panties and similarly female underwear than that popularly prescribed to males.

That being, the plain-patterned panties had again mostly been for purely utilitarian purposes, something perhaps to tease against his puffy labia for a few minutes just to get him all huffing and crying and whining, but little more after they were finally slipped off. Cute, but not jaw-dropping in most alphas’ regards, including Derek.

Sometimes Stiles might opt for a thong rather than the normal bikini-type, showing some more of that tantalizing ass; or perhaps he’d choose something with stripes or polka dots or something else just a little different, but, again, it certainly wasn’t a show-stopper most of the time.

But if the lacy bra was a surprise, the matching set of panties beneath his stomach round with life was somehow even fucking better. Because even from the towering angle, and the fact that Stiles was still sitting alone on the bed—unfortunately—he could see the similar transparency of the lessening lace beginning mostly at the mound of the start of his female sex, the male poking cutely out the top of the white band blushing the same pink as his nipples were, a bead of excitable pre-cum already weeping upon the tip, just begging to be collected with a sweep of the tongue.

But the better half of him, the already thoroughly, visibly impregnated cunt, was the real thing that called to Derek’s stupidly simple-brained alpha. His mouth salivated already, as he knew that if the bra was anything to go by, the panties too would have a clever little slutty hole just where it mattered most. And although he couldn’t see it given their currently undesirable positions, and the fact Stiles seemed to be keyed in on Derek’s pointed stare, and purposely tilting his hips forward just to grind his bare pussy on the covers beneath and keep it even more out of sight, Derek could smell it.

The scent of sex and creamy slick, a cunt just begging to be fucked by its rightful taker, its beloved mate. Deceptively fertile, as even though his womb was obviously over-stuffed as it already was, the true slut that an omega was didn’t care about that, only interested in getting fucked as often as possible, to ensure a good bond with their alpha or whatever the fuck.

Derek didn’t care, at that point. Not explanations for the dizzying amounts of arousal hardening his cock quickly into the straining, veiny piece of flesh begging to be released from its confines and inserted in the fine whore before it; not his worries just a handful of minutes before, of that phone call, or what even was it?

The robe slipped entirely off of Stiles’ pale shoulders, falling gracefully into a pile of silk around his now entirely exposed form, as though to frame the true piece of art that he was, now. Just little accents of white lace over the most intimate parts, breasts, cunt, and sheer stockings all the way up to the middle of those thick thighs to complete the angelic look, Derek’s gaze dragging all the way down his lover’s form to watch the way Stiles’ very toes curled and played along the carpeted floor in obvious anticipation.

Oh, he was just begging to be fucked. His entire body reeked of it, so obviously, like a slut in heat, but without the pure delirium pushing him to practical insanity. No, he was perfectly in his right mind—at least, as far as Derek could tell. That still semi-coy smile, those eyes framed by dark, light makeup, looking up at him with pure lidded lust.

If Derek didn’t know better, he’d think Stiles had been here for entire hours, getting ready for this exact moment, dolling himself up and putting on this entire thing he’d gotten from God knows where.

Except, oh, he did know that. Because he could smell that, too. The scents so blatant and strong he could practically imagine them in his mind’s eye right then and there, of Stiles slowly exchanging his plain clothes for these downright depraved ones, growing steadily more aroused by the minute, until he could take it no longer, and used his own hands, toys, whatever he could find, to drive orgasm after orgasm from his still-creamy cunt, the edges of the lace around his nipples and pussy wet with milk and cum respectively.

“Wasn’t enough for you, was it?” his alpha grinned in his own devilish way, as he began his own sort of striptease, slowly peeling his outer attire off layer by layer.

It took Stiles a second to understand what he was probably getting at, but when he did, that already obvious flush became ten times as apparent. “No... no, it wasn’t. I’m sorry, Alpha, I know I shouldn’t touch myself when you’re not here, but I just couldn’t help myself, having to wait for you for hours...” he bit his lip, adorned with gloss, Derek noted before shaking his head to dispel it of the instant urge to bite them even redder.

“Where did you get this?”

“The lingerie? Oh, I bought it online a week ago... secretly... I’m sorry...” Stiles whimpered, trying to act innocent with his lips and face, but obviously rubbing his legs together in an effort to stimulate his sexes at the exact same time.

Derek shook his head, feeling the hunger of the wolf threatening to take him over already, oppressive and constantly looming upon his more intelligent mind. He resisted it, but only for then, as he stripped off his shirt to an instant bloom of lust from the slut before him, practically drooling at those newly exposed, hard muscles.

“Then why did you decide to wear it today of all days, Stiles? Nothing to do with that call from Sc-”

“No!” Stiles gasped, all too quickly. Then he waved his hands, trying to play it off with a giggle that was the trademark of his obvious lies, sputtering, “I-I just thought I’d try it on, I was just _so_ bored, and it actually looked a lot better than I thought it would.”

Stiles cleared his throat, pushing his chest back out and his breasts forward so it was all Derek could focus on for a good second, before smiling once more, “I got it for you! And when I’d bought it, I just kept worrying so damn much that the, y’know... pregnancy would make it look worse, but I dunno,” he acted bashful, looking down pitifully in an omegan trick obviously made to make a protective mutt like Derek fall head over heels to aid him.

Well, despite knowing exactly what was going on, it worked anyway, as Derek now only in a pair of dark grey boxer-briefs kneeled before his mate, tilting his head up to meet him in the eyes as he reassured him, “No, you look great. I think it,” he leaned forward to press a kiss to the top of the warm swell, “just makes it look even better, honestly.”

“You don’t have to lie, really...”

“No,” Derek was fervent now, as his mate was so warm and real, just before him, allowing him to grab him by the wrists as though to show him just how much he meant this, “seriously, I love seeing you pregnant, with my pups, knowing that I did it. That you’re mine,” he pressed a kiss higher, just beneath the lacy bra, “mine,” again, this time right upon the upper swell of his breast, “and absolutely no one else’s.”

Stiles nodded, eyes closed, simply moaning the affirmative as he was left in what seemed like heaven under his mate’s hot, panted breath directly upon his aching tits.

For it was true, he had been desperately waiting for Derek to come home, had pinched his weeping nipples and fingered himself raw, eventually falling back on trying out every single one of the arsenal of sex toys, dildos, vibrators, and butt plugs upon his desperate holes in an effort to take the edge off. Only to be left almost even emptier than before, as his pussy even till now kept pulsing autonomously all the while, as though pleading for an alpha cock to finally fill it up, for real.

Of course, that cock could only ever be Derek’s, who was now inserting his tongue into his open, whining mouth, probing that wet hole as his hands roamed over his relatively massive tits, his even larger belly.

“Milked you just this morning, but you already have so much more for me, huh?” Derek teased against his neck before sucking a quick hickey into it, making his omega cry out loudly in pleasure, before promptly roaming downward toward those lace-bound, visibly sore, poor tits.

The feel of the lace was wonderful on Derek’s fingertips, almost as good as the mouth-watering scent and taste of the milk that was already leaking from Stiles’ hardened nipple and down and into the bralette.

And being able to wrap his lips around the bare nipple without even having to fuss with the fabric, begin to suck a thick stream of life-giving sweetness directly from its source with the heavenly thing still on? Just great.

Just roughly ten hours ago, he’d been doing the exact same thing he began doing now—that was, twisting and pinching Stiles’ nipple with one hand, while massaging and flicking, licking his tongue against the other, before moving to the opposite breast when the milk overflowed from the tit not currently being sucked upon.

Stiles’ milk production was truly ridiculous at this point, and with at least a few more months to go, Derek could only wonder just how insane the volume of silky liquid might become. With those two breasts aching Stiles into moaning and complaining of their pain day and night, it was almost like an entire meal in its own right, a twenty minute breast-sucking session certainly getting Derek just as full as though he’d been eating his cunt out for entire hours.

But oh, he couldn’t complain much, really. No doubt when the pups did come, the tremendous amount of milk would be a blessing, enough to feed the hapless things and then some. And it really was delicious, like the finest dessert satisfying Derek’s sweet tooth for the entire day, seeming to somehow supply him with energy for the day ahead come morning, and also soothe him off to bed sooner or later come night’s session.

He finally stopped the tortuously wonderful suckling upon his partner after he felt most of the hardness dissipate from the breasts, actually becoming just the slightest bit lighter in his hands after the sheer volume of milk he’d drained from them, still licking his lips with it smeared upon his chin, watching those over-working nipples still leak like a dam even without any stimulation, as though begging him to stay latched onto and drinking right from them forever.

But, no, he did have other matters to attend to, before he sucked Stiles dry—an actually possible feat, then, spoiler warning—so he allowed the sheer, useless excuse for clothing to soak up the milk from those dripping tits for the moment, and smirked as he looked to Stiles’ fucked-out eyes, before carrying out the next part of his plan.

Stiles moaned loudly in shock as something hot, heavy, and hard rutted right against his own erect cocklet, eyes rolling back before squeezing shut as Derek just continued using his body to grind against, panting increasingly more like the beast he knew without sight his mate was becoming.

He couldn’t help but smirk to himself, as he remembered Scott’s words, Derek pushing him down and back against the bed to manoeuvre them both fully upon it. What had his friend said? Something about them being power-hungry monsters, exploiting weak betas and omegas fallen into heat?

Hah. Yeah fucking right. If anything, Stiles had been the one to set the whole thing up, whether he’d known it or not then—just too convenient, for him to have forgotten to take his hormone suppressants, when in the presence of an alpha he’d already had the hots for, who he’d fully tolerated fucking him during said heat, when everyone knows an omega won’t just let any horny dick with a cock penetrate them if they don’t trust them beforehand.

Blissfully soon, however, all of Stiles’ scornful thoughts were forced right out of him as an increasingly furrier, feistier Derek stopped teasing the both of them and decided on a whim to do a one-eighty over his omega still lying upon his back beneath him, now in classic 69 position as he took his wolven muzzle and sniffed powerfully over Stiles’ cunt, legs still tightly closed so only the slightest pink of his outer folds could be seen through the lace panties.

But just as Derek parted Stiles’ thighs with one determined, clawed hand, his other pulled his remaining undergarments off of his own furred hips, allowing Stiles with wide-eyes just beneath them to watch as that huge, canine cock bounced right out of them as it was freed, before pointing directly down at his parted mouth as though directing the omega what he already knew to do.

And so Stiles opened his lips fully to allow the hot, slick cock to enter it with a confident thrust of Derek’s hips, just like an animal in the way he acted before ever even thinking to ask. Stiles had long learned how to not gag, even when there was a cock half the length and the same girth as his forearm dipping in and out of it at a leisurely pace—as though fucking Stiles’ throat was little more than an afterthought, something to bide Derek over, at this point.

Honestly, though, to be used like little more than a werewolf’s cum receptacle—his fuck toy—was almost as hot as the breath now directly against his exposed, glistening pussy.

Yes, it was just as Derek had thought it to be: a convenient peek-a-boo lack of fabric right where it was actually invented to be most importantly covering, which was as amusing as it was intensely sexy.

The lace swirled around the edges of his pink, swollen folds, as though framing them in its glistening white, already coated in so much slick and cum it was just ridiculous.

But what was even more important to Derek and his horny, werewolf form, was the actual cunt left vulnerable and exposed by these silly, sensual panties. The hole went all the way down to his asshole, still slightly shimmering with lube—although, certainly Stiles’ natural slick would be enough, at this point—and gaping from the no-doubt many toys the whore had tried shoving in it, as though any pathetic mimicry of plastic could even begin to compare with the hard, throbbing warmth still fucking itself in and out of Stiles’ delicious mouth currently.

Derek finally had enough of feasting his eyes, and so thrust his tongue forward, deciding to feast himself, for real. Stiles cried out immediately, although partially muffled on the cock still having its fun with his throat, as he always did.

The following moans were like music to the werewolf’s ears, as he did what was almost more natural for him than thoughts of violence were, at this point: flicking his long, long tongue deep inside of his mate’s spasming hole, only to circle back out to clean the leftovers of slick from Stiles’ many hours of naughty fun before he’d gotten home.

He lapped him clean all the way from deep inside him to that pink, twitching hole he’d had the blessing of fucking his cock in once or twice, eventually taking one of his fingers and carefully swirling around the cute ring of muscle before inserting right inside, just as he did with his tongue and yet more digits with the even wetter cunt.

Derek allowed things to play on like this for a good dozen minutes or so, until his own knot was pulsing on the verge of climax from Stiles’ throat vibrating with a voice screaming out in perhaps his tenth or so orgasm already of the night.

Only then did the were decide to give his poor, spit-and-cum-soaked mate a break, as he raised his hips and allowed his massive cock to finally pop free from his swollen lips which immediately gasped for air, only to have a thick stream of semen poured on them as well as the rest of his face from that still-throbbing, dangling cock.

Derek couldn’t help but wolfishly smirk to himself as he took a moment to blindly rub his spit-slick cock against his own omega’s face, making Stiles sputter and whine even more than before as his entire face, hair and all, was immediately dirtied with his own saliva and white pre-cum. Derek excused it as punishment for the un-agreed upon hours of playing with himself the slut had had before, before finally taking true mercy and turning back around to rightfully face his mate in missionary style.

True to Stiles’ ideals, though, Derek did not just start fucking his pregnant mate in such an ill-thought out position. Well, it could work, if perhaps Stiles stayed fully laying down and Derek just sat upright while thrusting into him, but both of them knew they liked sex as intimate and as close as possible... and Stiles liked to feel the weight of his mate over him, if at all possible, and Derek liked to dominate his omega, if at all possible.

And so, instead, Derek with all his awesome might and cunning, flipped Stiles onto his hands and knees.

“W-wait-” Stiles tried, wanting to tell Derek that maybe this wasn’t such a good position, that they’d never tried doggy style before, because, when you think about it, all it is a slip away and then, well-

Instead, he only received a growl as the dark, drooling beast mounted him from behind, hard cock sliding between his ass cheeks and soiling the back of the panties further as Stiles couldn’t help but moan, so close to finally being penetrated and filled with cock.

But first, Stiles was surprised as he felt his knees pushed apart by determined, much larger ones; his already weak, shaking arms giving out with a shove from Derek’s hand upon the small of his back, the effort behind the motion seemingly nothing to the werewolf now completely covering him from above, but leaving Stiles struggling for breath and helpless beneath him.

It truly was a humiliating position: presenting position. Ass and cunt raised in a trademark omega way, displaying all the goods for their alpha to lick or finger or fuck as he pleases, while their own hands, tits, and face are left to press into whatever happens to be beneath them—which, in this case, was thankfully a soft bed, but still.

Meant subconsciously to reduce one to nothing more than a bitch to be bred full of pups, or so the theory goes, at least. And though they have, indeed, done this particularly alluring position many times, Stiles thought the last one must have been entire months ago, before his stomach had grown so dangerously and cumbersomely large as to make most sex positions inadvisable.

But, really, his abdomen wasn’t in all that bad of a place, this way. Not crushed beneath his own weight, not in the way of Derek being able to crush him instead, it was able to hang quite peacefully from his stomach, all the way to the bed at its apex, where it rest gently.

Perhaps it could work, actually...

It was then that Stiles noticed Derek wasn’t moving—not penetrating him, barely even breathing, really. Then he got the idea that, oh, Derek was actually waiting for _him_ to say or do something... much unlike the act rather than ask beast he’d made him out as being before, huh...

Anyway, instead of dumbly telling him yes, he could fuck him and he’d try his best to not let his legs give out, he went ahead and followed in the wolf’s ways of non-verbal communication.

And with a quiet inhale of excitement, Stiles slowly pressed his ass back and allowed the tip of Derek’s giant cock right inside of his waiting, aching cunt. And as soon as the head of it was in the tight warmth of his mate, that was it for Derek, as he shut his eyes in the pure feeling of pleasure.

He thrust his cock fully in as he had a million times before, but just like every time, as well, it was like nothing ever before, as Stiles’ eyes lit up in pure, overwhelming electricity before rolling back in his skull, a weak, _“f-fuck y-yes,”_ never quite making it out of his mouth in any actually decipherable way.

But Derek could tell, without any words necessary, just how much his mate loved it. Being taken from behind, made to be humiliated as he was crushed by the enormous weight of pure muscle doubling over the top of him to fuck him even harder. The cunt around his throbbing cock already drenching the fur of his groin and Stiles’ inner thighs in creamy slick, pulsing and squeezing on his girth in such a way that only spurred him to fuck into it even faster, harder.

The werewolf’s hands moved from digging into Stiles’ waist—perhaps lifting him up, just in case his strength really did give out—toward the omega’s lace-embellished chest, instead, where he finished the job of milking his little cow as he cruelly twisted and pinched his fingers upon either swollen bud, forcing stream after delightful stream of pure white from his abused nipples.

Stiles must have screamed and writhed like he hadn’t seen in a good while, with how thoroughly and sadistically he milked his tits completely empty of milk just as much as its aching pains of over-encumbrance with said milk. Leaving Derek to instead now suckle his own fingers clean of any traces of the sweet syrup, even as he continued pounding hard into his pregnant whore of a mate.

“D-Derek,” he heard his omega trying to say, which he would normally ignore, but he had been ignoring it for entire minutes now as he built up toward his eventual climax, so he finally decided to ease up the thrusts enough to allow him to get a proper sentence out.

“I-I know it’s kinda... d-dumb, ah, but...” Stiles moaned and whined through the constant onslaught of pleasure and climaxes, but the words made Derek curious enough to actually start listening hard to his words.

“M-marry me, s-soon!” his voice was cut off into another cry of orgasm, but by then even through the glaring fog of Derek’s transformation, he heard that one loud and clear.

With a vicious snarl and a growl of all the pride and dark possession in the world, Derek reared forward to bite his mate right where the bonding mark had been inflicted all those months ago, sinking his teeth in deep just as he forced his knot into the poor cunt barely able to contain such an immense mass.

The blood leaking from the wound mixing with Derek’s groans of pure euphoria as he bred his mate full once more, load after load of thick ejaculate right into the tight pussy all around him as the words began to really sink in.

Marry him? Soon? Where in the world did that come from?

But, fortunately or not, the Derek slowly regaining his consciousness as well as his human form couldn’t really ask Stiles, as the poor guy was knocked out cold beside him, obviously thoroughly exhausted from such rough sex, as well as that phone call... whatever it was.

Derek merely sighed, properly pushing and pulling his mate still looking as adorable as ever in that sweet white lingerie that they would probably—no, definitely, be using again—and tucking the both of them in for a well-deserved night.

The specifics of that damned phone call, the sudden want for engagement, just everything about tonight... he would ask it, come tomorrow.

But for now, he was content to snuggle up beside his slumbering mate, pressing kisses to heal the fresh wound, sliding both of their hands to caress the unmistakable, and very large, sign of their real, genuine love for one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Thanks for reading, I hope that wasn’t too too much! :P I just really wanted to write some drama, feminization, and get to marriage sooner rather than later lol! Anyways, this probably won’t be the end of Scott, so don’t get too upset... and same for some other past characters ;) Hopefully I’ll somehow tie all the leads I’ve been making into one nice bow at the end, but until then, see you sometime next week, bye bye! :D


	23. Transformation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO _NOT_ READ.**
> 
> Hey guys, sorry for taking a brief break for a week and a bit! I should’ve included in the previous chapter’s notes somewhere that I might do that as well, but forgot tbh lol. 
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> Annyyway, I actually had quite a bit of fun writing the following happy, mostly mindless smutty fluff, my favourite! So I hope you all will enjoy, too, and hopefully I can get back to writing a chapter a week once again! :D

Stiles really wanted to believe that what he’d said still held true.

That is, the whole getting married soon thing.

On that topic, it seemed that Derek was perhaps slightly more realistic than Stiles—who, sure, might not have been quite in the right mind when he’d asked for such a thing, being heart-broken and enraged by Scott’s phone call, and also on the verge of a world-shattering orgasm—but still.

Seriously, he definitely fucking meant that one, full-on. The guy could’ve gotten on one knee the very next day, and Stiles would’ve been relieved, overjoyed, and, of course, had said yes. He’d almost thought that was the exact thing that was going to play out when Derek took him to a semi-fancy restaurant complete with a long walk on the beach at sunset, it was just obvious.

But no, it didn’t happen that time—which Stiles now understands was obviously just an act of kindness and consolidation to try and cheer him up from finally having to admit to Derek the truth of the phone call in its entirety, after a good two minutes of trying to keep his mouth shut, a defeat from its very conception.

Nor did Derek propose the next day, even after a romantic home-cooked dinner with an equally romantic cuddle-excuse of a movie. Nor when they went to gaze at the stars shortly after. Nor after they had a quick fuck that could even be labelled more as the squeamish term of “making love” under said stars, despite that feeling of true, genuine peace with the universe and all that jazz.

And so on and so forth in the couple of weeks that followed, until, finally, Stiles got the inkling this might take longer than his little spite fest might last, after all.

It’s not really like he did it fully out of spite, or maliciously or anything, in the first place. Well, he kind of did, but it was also just how he was feeling in the moment, all the lingering feelings of wrath and sorrow, the pure ecstasy that replaced it simply by the warmth, the touch of his mate, it was only logical to his highly illogical brain that the simplest explanation was fuck Scott, and _fuck_ Derek, with a ring on it. It really wasn’t some sort of master plan, he was rarely the type to concoct such a thing unless with pure intentions.

And so, it was with resignation and not a small amount of embarrassment, that Stiles knew he also had to stop being so adamant about the second part of the whole twisted thing, too.

That particular front being, of course, Scott. And the whole never calling or talking or seeing him ever again thing.

It’s not really that it was hard. No, it was blissfully easy to simply cut a guy living thousands of miles away out of one’s life: just a few clicks of a button, big red texts of BLOCK later, and that was that, wipe your hands clean.

Perhaps Stiles could actually let it go, if Scott were a different person, if in almost every one of his earliest memories as well as earliest handheld camcorder recording he wasn’t the thumb-sucking idiot right next to him, if he wasn’t a werewolf as well, if there weren’t this feeling of unfinished business between them.

Stiles would really like to believe it was just the whole pregnancy thing—in his 24th week out of God knows how many, not only were the assaults from inside becoming increasingly worrisome, but the entire process in general was becoming dangerously so. To have some answers to the vital questions of how long the actual pregnancy might be, if the birth of such supernatural pups might be the nail in the coffin to the already incredulous doctors and nurses that had to, nonetheless, follow the precarious pregnancy.

But he knew, deep down, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be that simple, that easy, that detached. Because despite how heartless Scott had come off—as much the fault of Stiles for allowing himself to become so overwhelmed as to not even be willing to let Scott finish the damn sentence, as that hair-brained moron who somehow got it through the crudest filters in his brain of basic human respect and manners that talking to him about his soon-to-be fiance was even remotely okay.

Like, seriously, what the fucking hell was Scott even _thinking?_

But, no, Stiles assured himself with a sigh, exhaling the remnants of anger and hurt, inhaling what he hoped could be enough tranquillity to keep him sane for the following few moments. That was all in the past, they both had their reasons, and he knew very well that he couldn’t just leave such a core bridge burnt to ashes simply because of an err—no matter how unbelievably, impossibly, stupidly lar- Okay, no, not doing that again!

Before he could talk himself out of everything, Stiles just pressed the green call button and closed his eyes.

And to his immense surprise, just a couple rings in, Scott picked up.

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice answered immediately. As familiar as ever, as though nothing had changed, taking Stiles back to years of middle and high school, well before this whole mess had ever happened.

“Is it really you?” he asked, voice wary and yet full of hope and curiosity. Just like Stiles would have sounded weeks ago when Scott had finally been the one on the other line, although with a more grounded guardedness that always could be expected of his more level friend.

“I mean, I think so, at least,” Stiles chuckled at the utter astonishment in Scott’s phrasing.

“Oh my G- look, I’m sorry- I really am- I don’t even know what I was thinking, I think all those negative feelings from my dad and everything just kind of resurfaced and overtook me in a way that I haven’t felt or even known was there for years, really, and-”

“Jeez, Scott,” Stiles interrupted him with a sharp breath, “you almost sound like me, with how much you’re rambling!”

“I’m sorry,” came the simple, genuine reply.

Stiles nodded, more to himself than anything else, as he closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of acceptance, going with it all of the tension and still-lingering remnants of anger at the memories of Scott’s harsh words. There was no need for anger, not anymore.

Not now that there were far more important matters at hand.

“Apology accepted. Now, I need you to do something for me, Scott.”

“What’s that?” he asked, sounding almost unsure whether to be intimidated or fearful at such open wording.

Stiles just snickered to himself, and leaned upon the arm of the couch to get into a more comfortable position as he said, “I want to do a phone call with your mother. And no, this isn’t just the set up of an elementary school joke. I have some... things to ask her.”

~~~

“I talked to Scott.”

Not a minute after entering the house, still stepping out of his work shoes, Derek turned sharply at the sudden comment.

“You what?”

“I called Scott. And his mom. I know that might sound like I’m making some kind of childish joke, but I’m being one-hundred percent serious. Seriously.”

Finally getting over the surprise of Stiles’ words—the gorgeous glow he now had from the developing pregnancy certainly didn’t help—Derek finished undressing from his outerwear, taking a step towards his mate idly leaning against the kitchen counter as he asked, “Why would you call him?”

Stiles sensed the little tinge of anger, jealousy, something like that in Derek’s voice. It almost made him smile, to hear his alpha so possessive over him, knowing that it was for them being mates, him being his omega, more than anything logical, probably.

All the same, Stiles flatly replied, “Because I needed to get some info about how his mother’s pregnancy was. Because Scott is half-werewolf after all, remember?”

Derek seemed somewhat embarrassed at the reminder, such an obvious connection, if he even could get embarrassed, that is. He huffed, took some more steps toward the kitchen to rummage then rummage through the fridge looking for absolutely nothing as he nonchalantly replied, “Sure. And what did Scott say about... that conversation weeks ago? Did he at least apologize?”

Stiles could barely keep in his giggle. It was just so... cool, to see Derek like this, all secretly up in a tizzy that he was also barely containing. Stiles realized it was just as much his inner omega turning such normally annoying possessive behaviour into something actually laudable, something good, but all the same, it was nice. To be treated like a queen, like the prize that his alpha so clearly wanted to protect from all threats, be they physical, emotional, or from his harmless old friend.

“Oh, sure he did. He sounded real sorry, at least,” Stiles nodded, finding his voice becoming light as though he were acting stupid, and even he wasn’t entirely sure why. But as his pregnancy progressed, his stomach getting rounder and rounder to the point he just accepted not fitting into that shirt or those pants anymore, his personality had been shifting, too. It wasn’t something he was particularly concerned about, his body was going through so many changes, why shouldn’t his mind, to?

But as of recently, Stiles had been acting more... omega. In every single way, really. Even now, when he should really be focused on his mate and his obvious, barely-hidden concern for him and his well-being after not three weeks ago practically balling his eyes out over Scott’s one-sided argument with him, Stiles instead found his mind wandering to... other things.

Honestly, he was getting to be so hormonal at this point nearly two-thirds through the pregnancy—and Scott’s mother had assured him it should be full-term, at least, probably—that he didn’t even really feel angry, not anymore.

Everything felt like a joke at the same time it did a dream. The most wonderful dream, one where he somehow had caught himself the best catch of the entire century, let alone the day, who was standing right before him, the hidden front half of him lit by the artificial white of the fridge, still fuming under his breath despite Stiles’ mundane words.

It was probably just the endorphins getting to Stiles’ brain, making it feel like cotton muffling between his ears more often than not. Making everything sweet and hazy and easy, like he was high on the hormones of his own pregnancy more than anything else.

And it was funny, just funny, to see how his own hormones must be affecting his mate. Or perhaps it was the sight, the being so close to his mate, knowing that he himself impregnated him to the couch-residing, maternity nightshirt-wearing form he was now resigned to, that really was setting Derek off in that moment.

But along with turning Stiles from a slob whose room looked more like a tornado had just blown through it, into a sudden neat freak having to polish away the slightest streak in the bathroom mirrors or silverware, the pregnancy had also made Stiles, well, to be blunt-

Really fucking horny.

So, yeah, it was safe to say that, at this point, Stiles didn’t even give two shits about what Scott had said to him. Because now he had apologized, Stiles had accepted it, meaning it for the most part, and now he had two hours’ worth of new-found knowledge about their pups that would be born in just a few months, if all went well, which he was sure it would.

Because, really, all his frets and worries about the birth were all for nothing, in the end. Scott’s mother had had him at a hospital, and there was absolutely nothing suspect about it, other than him perhaps being slightly larger than the average, but about half of babies were anyway, weren’t they?

No fangs or claws or unexpected fur. Which meant that yes, Stiles had nothing to worry about. At least, not in the near future.

And, he decided with an almost drunk-feeling smile on his lips—although he obviously hadn’t had even the slightest drop in the last six months—that the best way to make his mate understand truly just how he felt, was not to tell him.

Because why tell, when you can _show?_

Derek seemed to bristle as Stiles’ arms slowly slinked around him, at the chest and decidedly lower, too. Which was an odd reaction, considering the sheer amount of times Stiles normally groped his big, bad wolf, especially more and more in the past few days now that Stiles’ already exemplary sex drive was right off the God damn charts.

But it was obvious, that Derek was still furious, just beneath the surface. That he wished he could have been there, upon the couch with Stiles, to snap the phone from him so he could sling a never-ending onslaught of cusses at Scott, as he probably deserved at the time.

That he was angry with himself, that he could do nothing to console Stiles for the hours he was at work, ignorant, not even the slightest clue that there was anything wrong with Stiles even when he got home, and the subtle scent of tears and disdain should have set him off, as any good alpha would’ve keyed in on immediately, right?

Of course, Stiles knew that that was a load of shit, and he couldn’t care less what Derek had or hadn’t done. Really, fucking him in lingerie and reminding him of what a sweet omega slut he was was exactly what he figured he needed, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

And so, Stiles just kept tightening his embrace around his mate’s broad, muscled chest. Fingers digging into the lines of his abdomen, between hulking, solid slabs of pure strength, already feeling his pussy almost entirely exposed other than a thin strip of panties wet itself at the thought of what those muscles could do above him.

Even Stiles knew it was ridiculous, just how cock-hungry he always was nowadays. Sure, part of the reason for the switch in wardrobe from his typical, more masculine clothing to the flowy effeminate things he now went for, was for the sake of practicality, his growing belly, how hard it was to dress nowadays.

But part of it was because he knew Derek turned it on. And when Derek was turned on—as he was now getting, slowly by the second, that virile cock hardening in his slacks and leaking that strong-smelling cum that had Stiles licking his lips just imagining its taste—Stiles was turned on, too.

But it was also for the simple ease of access, if you will. How nice it was to just lift the bottom hem of his nightgown or baby-doll-esque lingerie and there Derek could be, driving orgasms from his waiting cunt with his tongue, fingers, cock. Just the slight push of his panties and there he would be, hot and full inside of fucking inside of him, rather than having to deal with all those pesky buttons, jeans and shirts.

“It was good talking to them,” Stiles breathed against Derek’s neck, having to lean up on tippy-toes just to barely get over his shoulder, “refreshing, satisfying. I’m glad he apologized, and I got to hear it. But, to be honest, I could barely even really think much of what I learned about the pregnancy, what it could mean for us...”

“Why’s that?” Derek asked, the words the same as Scott’s, but the delivery so obviously different. Sure, there was that guardedness, but more so there was the temptation, the inviting sex in Derek’s low, husky voice.

“Because,” Stiles muttered against the edge of his ear, fully raising on his toes, calves, thighs, everything in order to reach him, the roundness of his stomach slotting into his alpha’s back in a way that was more than perfect, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how badly I wanted you to just come home... to come and fuck my cunt again and again. I’m so fucking horny all the time I, I just don’t know what to do with myself, Der... I’m so useless, I try to clean or do the laundry but I just end up grinding my legs together, moaning to myself as I try to make myself cum as hard as you do, but it’s all so useless.”

He knew without even having to look just how hard Derek was in his pants, knew without being able to see the lustful, sex-starved expression plastered across Derek’s face. Because he’d seen it so many times before, of course. Especially in the past handful of days where his sex drive had seemed to spike, so much so he almost felt as though all the near-constant sex they’d had in just the past week could almost equal the rest of their relationship beforehand. But, of course, that would be impossible. They had always been such horndogs it was just statistically out of the question.

Because, even before the pregnancy hormones kicked them both into a depraved desperation for one another, they’d always had plenty of sex. It was a key part of any healthy alpha-omega relationship. Especially younger ones, as Stiles and Derek obviously were.

They used to fuck at least once a night, and about half the time that would be a multiple-orgasm sort of occurrence, one where Derek would almost always transform to be able to really take out any and all pent up frustrations and horniness over the day into the waiting cunt or mouth beneath him. The very next morning after wasn’t out of the question, either, one of them usually waking up to their cock being ground against, their pussy being spread apart with the spoils of last night just making everything even easier, quicker.

But as far as a typical day went, that usually would have been it. The rest of the days were usually filled with work, chores, or some extracurricular activity on the weekends. Stiles liked to visit his father, Derek coming with in tow sometimes if Stiles could help it. Just as often, they liked to go out on dates every week or two, just to eat out or to the movie theatre or something else suitably ordinary.

So that meant that, all in all, there usually wasn’t that much mid-day sex. Sure, there might be a few times some public teasing had them particularly wiled up, to the point the second they were safely indoors the belt was off just as fast as the underwear, but that wasn’t most days.

But now? Now the sex was nearly constant, whenever Derek was home with his stay-at-home omega.

God, it really was something. It should sound exhausting, impossible, like something that would get in the way. And maybe it did, sometimes, when Stiles woke up from a well-fucked through nap to realize his immense hunger, to which his alpha would quickly cure if his knot wasn’t still tying him inside his cunt.

But, really, it wasn’t nearly as unbelievable as it might sound, at first. It was just kinda something that they’d fallen slowly into the habit of, where at first Stiles was embarrassed at just what a total slut he was being, the way his mind nearly constantly, incessantly thought and drooled over cock, until Derek reminded him during another rough round of sex that that was exactly what he loved most about him.

And then it was no holds barred, as every normal couple thing became a mere excuse for sex. A movie night on the couch turned to fondling turned to full-on penetration within record time, before the movie even started, sometimes.

The second Derek got home, it was fair game, and then everything after seemed just a constant state of either fucking or recovering from a fuck. Even eating wasn’t off the table, more of their dinners together spent connected between the legs than not. All the better to do that cliche lovey-dovey feed each other thing, though.

So, yes, it really was like a heat prolonged over weeks, and Stiles thought there might truly be no end in sight. Until the pups were born, that is.

But it was fine by him. It was like the heat without the anxiety, the paranoia if there wasn’t something lodged inside of him. He only felt somewhat sad, empty, lonely without Derek, but it was nothing a bit of distraction or busy-work couldn’t handle.

Really, it seemed like all the positives without much of the negatives.

Like right now, as both of his hands roamed south to cup over Derek’s huge, immense throbbing hard-on through his clothes, whispering tantalizing word pictures of how wet he’d gotten in his absence, how horny he was, as he pushed his chest against Derek’s shoulder blades just to exemplify.

That, too was something that had changed so rapidly in just the past few weeks. Perhaps Scott’s little fit was really a good thing, not only for the lingerie and the later resulting knowledge from his mother—totally unrelated things—but for the overall rapid change in Stiles’ pregnancy. Like the however slight trauma of hearing those biting words from his dear friend had wisened his body up, changed him as quickly as possible into something that would be able to take such harsh realities, be able to bear and bring up their young with ease.

But here, we’re specifically talking about Stiles’ tits. Which, at this point, were honestly, truly, _tits._ Nice and full, it was incredible how much they’d changed from merely a few days ago, not to mention before he was even pregnant.

From utterly flat-chested to perky bug bites, they were now, no doubt, full breasts. Still on the slighter side for a typical female, they were quite the spectacle upon the chest of a male’s, about as big as an average omega male’s would normally get.

But Stiles had a feeling, even at the unmodest B-cup he was now sporting, that they would get _even_ fucking bigger.

That really shouldn’t arouse him as much as it did.

But this whole pregnancy, especially in the recent past, had made him realize something.

And that was that, truly, he loved being pregnant. Not just pregnant, with his belly growing with life and knowing all the lovely pups that would soon be brought into this world from his womb, but the physicality of it, too. The transformation of just how swollen his abdomen was becoming, more and more impossibly by the day.

Like something of a mirror to Derek’s lycanthropic shape-shifting, although obviously different in many ways—taking months instead of mere seconds, with no real super powers asides from a slightly more sensitive sense of smell that had him craving odd things just as much as it ruined his go-to meals at his favourite restaurants.

But in other ways, it was the same. The immense, purely carnal satisfaction of Stiles’ morphing body just as he imagined it must feel for Derek to be able to allow the wolf to consume him whole. Giving in to the stupid, but core part of their selves that could never truly be hidden away, could never fully be ignored. The alpha and the omega, in essence. Roles as old as roles themselves, really.

Sure, it was irritating not being able to get around or do the things he would normally be able to—exercise and touching his toes being two things he never realized he would miss so much until he was almost utterly unable to do them at all—but it was almost made up for it by just how... different it was.

He felt chock full of life and love, like this. And now it was visible, painfully so, as his entire body seemed to adapt to one day nourish his children that Derek had given to him. Something so arousing about how much he had changed, how little he felt of himself before, how quickly and thoroughly his life had changed for what he hoped was the better.

Again, it was probably just all the hormones that had his thoughts so crazy. Perhaps Scott was right in the first place, after all. Maybe Stiles really was in over his head.

Probably.

But as Derek finally could take the aching in his erection no more, and shut the fridge to abruptly turn on his mate, devouring him in a passionate kiss that took his breath away as those big, burly mitts wrapped around his own painful tits, he didn’t really care.

“Oh, Derek,” Stiles gasped, pushed gently against the other side of the counter as Derek’s maw moved from his lips to his neck, sucking even darker hickies than were already there as he ground his raging hard-on between his mate’s slick thighs. “I-I swear, I could cum just from you t-touching me-”

“Is that true?” Derek growled into his neck, just making Stiles moan again as those sinfully skilled fingers moved upon his sore tits, wrapping around the lower swell of them before twisting to pinch at his over-sized nipples. If Stiles had grown to accept and even like his newfound tits, Derek absolutely adored them.

They began squirting milk from the purposeful pulls from his mate, as they were wont to do. But they had already obviously been leaking and soaking into the black lace of the little piece Stiles had on now, the front of it slightly lightened by the white of his thickening milk. Derek licked his lips as he lowered his head, shoving the swooping neckline further down to expose one bare, pale tit, free into the cool of the air, which he then promptly suckled right into his nice, warm mouth.

Stiles moaned almost loud enough to scream, as he suddenly arched his back and thrashed against the marble of the counter-top behind him, taking himself almost by surprise. He’d expected Derek breastfeeding from him to feel good, in that sinful way it always did, but this? This was fucking electric, unreal, so out of this world-

It must be the call. To finally have the resolution to Scott and his problem, to have that satisfaction, that happy ending. Now he and Derek were free to do whatever they wanted together, for now. And hell if his body wasn’t going to take that as permission to turn him into a useless, ever-climaxing slut.

So, his hormones and senses seemingly heightened already more than they already were before tonight, it seemed Stiles’ increased sensitivity only spurred Derek on, too. In a semi-perpetual state of rut, the secret werewolf alpha had been acting a little more erratic at work as of late, but it hadn’t hurt him so much as it helped him, in that obscure business world. Besides, it wasn’t that bad, as thanks to Stiles’ pheromones being the thing to set him off in the first place, all he had to do was wait a few hours and he could bury his impatient cock into the cunt that had caused it all.

So Derek felt it right to half-heartedly punish Stiles, saying as much as he spat into his milky flesh just what a vile, cum-thirsty whore he was, nipping at his right nipple as he pinched and pulled sadistically at the other. Drinking in Stiles’ delirious moans with a grin as he glanced to the side to take in the sheer amount Stiles’ growing breast now stretched to meet his fingers pulling it back like a rubber band, until he allowed the milk-squirting breast to snap right back, the fat of it jiggling wonderfully, full of milk as he imagined it was.

He played with, bit at it, suckled upon, and slapped Stiles’ tits to his very heart’s content. And damn if that wasn’t as good a stress-reliever as any workout, and twice as fun. But to even Derek’s surprise, he heard Stiles’ breath catching, growing shorter and shorter against his powerful werewolf ears the more he played with his nipples, draining the milk from them to flood onto his tongue, or collect in streaks across the tiled floor.

And, before he knew it, there was his beautiful pregnant omega whore, having a squirting orgasm before his very eyes, all without his pussy ever being so much as looked upon directly.

“Just from your tits, huh?” Derek chuckled, as impressed as he was immensely aroused now. Stile tried weakly to reply, but it was clear from the way he was now slumping against the surface behind him that to have a breast-play orgasm like that had taken a lot out of him, so Derek decided to give him some sympathy.

And by that, of course, he means grabbing his mate by the ass, pulling him up and onto the counter-top island, and pulling his drenched panties aside to inspect just how soaked he really was.

At least Stiles no longer had to try standing on his sea-like legs, but now he had to deal with being spread out in such an embarrassing place, and position, before his hungry, cunt-starved mate.

And at the sight that blessed him, of Stiles’ dripping inner walls, all that nice, creamy cum splattered against his inner thighs as well as the part of his panties that had been resting against his warm cunt, Derek just couldn’t help himself, as he plunged his tongue deep into the pussy that was far more delicious than any meal, dessert, or anything ever had a right to be.

That drew another few orgasms out of Stiles, as Derek had provoked from him so many countless times as of late. But never before had he quite been taken this way, so haphazardly balanced upon such a surface meant solely for food preparation and making.

Then again, with the way Derek ravenously drank the slick his pussy gushed with every orgasm, collecting the semen from his small prick to also be swallowed down, occasionally reaching up to Stiles’ tits where he instructed Stiles to try doing the same to himself, just so he could have more of that tasty milk leaking down Stiles’ small body and thoroughly soaked nightgown in white rivulets, he might as well have been a five-course meal to the beast.

But once Stiles cried—literally and figuratively—that he could simply wait no more for that manly, amazing, truly enormous cock, Derek went back up on his feet to do just that. A quick unzip and slight tugging later, and no sooner than Stiles could beg for it like the whore he was, his eyes rolled back in euphoria as a cock just as desperate as his cunt came to fill him up, once and for all.

He probably came just upon the insertion, too. It was hard to know, with how his orgasms at this point seemed near-constant, as they would probably continue to be for the rest of the evening, up until well past midnight when Derek finally turned out Derek finally stopped giving into Stiles’ endless requests for just one more round. He did have to wake up bright and early so he could fuck him in the shower before work, after all.

Derek took him rough and hard, much to Stiles’ screaming enjoyment as every spot inside of him was filled and met perfectly, every nerve struck in a way just like lightning, Derek’s puffing breaths thunder in his ears and his cunt a flood of slick around the cock driving mercilessly into it—which who knows what part of the metaphor that is, but fuck it.

Stiles just loved, worshipped, could think nothing else other than _cock,_ at this point. And he would honestly have it no other fucking way.

Faster than normal, Derek gave into his own pleasure and allowed a howling orgasm to take him over, only half-transformed when it came to the point that his powerful cock shot its potent loads directly into the already overloaded womb, knot shoved roughly in there in an animalistic need to seed him further, ensure that his omega bitch was really all his.

But that was fine, because they both knew in the short, panting afterglow that there was much, much more to come.

Or cum. Either way.

And as Derek carried Stiles in a way that kept them connected at the knot, but also kept his belly from getting smushed somehow, over to the fridge to pull some leftovers from it, Stiles threw his head back in half-conscious laughter at just how, truly, insane it was.

For just a short few minutes of microwaving afterglow later, they were sitting upon the couch enjoying their lasagna to some rerun. Still sat upon Derek’s knot, forced into the closest proximity two people could possibly be, Stiles amused himself by messing with Derek every other bite.

Whether it be nuzzling into his cheek, rubbing his hands across Derek’s well-formed chest, slowly undoing the buttons to reveal more of the hairy—or was it more furry, by now?—expanse. Or just straight up giving into his own insatiable lust, already ramping up just halfway through the meal, as he made a mess of the couch by grinding his hips upon Derek’s still-ejaculating cock, biting his lip with the flavours of food as well as the moan-induing pleasure from the massive thing still spearing his tight cunt apart, seeding it so damn well.

Stiles selfishly brought himself to orgasm by the end of the meal, and that’s when about Derek was done, too. Not just with the food, which was left upon the table for now, as it was just too important to him then to take some revenge on his little slut.

So, Stiles had to endure the aftershocks of his own stupidly timed orgasm as Derek forced his cock and knot all out of his still-puffy, brutalized pussy, not so much as grunting a sorry for it all. Stiles’ hole was left thoroughly gaping, not only cock-sized, but knot-sized, and considering both of those were relative to Derek’s immense stature rather than Stiles... he was really fucked open, let’s just say that.

Derek stuck a few fingers in Stiles’ cunt just to amuse himself more than anything as he shuffled about on the couch, leaving Stiles wondering what in the hell he was doing, until Stiles was lying belly-side-up upon the oversized furniture, and Derek was shuffling sliding into place directly above him.

At first, Stiles thought the giant swinging cock and low-hanging balls were for his mouth, and he opened as such. Instead, however, he was greeted with the darkened hairs of Derek’s little werewolf tail thingy, and that cock went straight past his drooling mouth to slot between his tits.

Well.... this wasn’t really something they’d ever done before, no. But hell if Stiles wasn’t incredibly excited to see what might happen.

And so Derek squeezed Stiles’ still-slightly-swollen tits together, creating a crease between the two of them where the head of his cock still leaking remnants of its last orgasm against. Now that his breasts were more than just small mounds upon his chest, and there was some actual fatty flesh to do something with, Derek could do more than pretend to tit fuck his omega. Every alpha’s dream, truly.

No, now there was an actual, man-made hole formed out of the two perfect breasts, one that he sank his cock in with a toothy-mawed groan into the cool evening air. Damn, it felt good, more because he knew it was his omega’s milk-leaking tits than anything else.

Still, it was great, the way his semen could collect in the soft skin of Stiles’ chest, the milk from his nipples easily able to be squeezed and smeared across his swollen belly just below Derek’s that met Derek’s cock head on his deepest thrusts.

He could stay like this all day, just fucking between his omega’s glorious, little breasts. Probably make himself knot a few times, with how deep his lust was for his mate, even as he used him as little more than a fleshlight to get himself off.

But no, he wasn’t that cruel. Especially not when his mate’s cunt was squeezing down around his fingers, desperate for its own release. So, he eventually stopped his tit-fucking—leaving the twin swells soaked in his pearly white cum, of course—and settled for face-fucking his mate directly, instead.

Squeezing Stiles’ nipples with one hand alternating between them, the other hand still nearly wrist deep in his loosened cunt, it was what Stiles seemed to love the most. All the way until Stiles was a couple orgasms ahead, to which Derek answered with something of a magic trick, as he pulled his way-too-long cock from Stiles’ way-too-little moaning throat.

And to get some payback for his mate’s selfish but wonderfully perverted orgasms just from getting his face fucked, he let his veiny cock slap his omega across the face, smearing the pre-cum and spit for a few seconds, until with a low howl he finally blew his load all over the rest of Stiles’ body and already ruined gown. Most of the sperm landing upon his heaving tits, but some of it making as far as the already easily hit, large target of Stiles’ belly, all sliding all the way to his slick-soaked, sloppy-seconds type of pussy, well fucked by finger and cock alike.

But they both knew that wasn’t it. Even as Derek moved to toss the dishes in the wondrous invention that was the dishwasher, returning to the couch just in time to scoop up a still recovering, drool and semen-covered Stiles bridal-style to the bedroom, they both knew from a quick glance at the clock in the hallway that there were still at least two more hours of sex to go.

Oh, and how those hours went.

That experimental doggy-style Derek had made up was one of tiles’ personal favourites now, and so they did it that way for one or two of Derek’s orgasms—they didn’t count Stiles’, as they hardly mattered, nor could be counted with how plentiful they were, truthfully. Leading into some more play with the handcuffs, a bit of ticking sex that had Stiles even more breathless and feeling fucked silly than usual, some other positions of vaginal penetration.

Some anal mixed in there, plenty of cunnilingus, of course, plenty of knots being shoved inside of his various orifices only to be brutally pulled out, so on and so forth. It was impressive, how long and how hard they could go on just some lasagna and intense, undying flames of lust for the other. It was almost like a two-person orgy, if such a thing were even conceivable, how much cum and moaning and sex was had in just one night.

At the inevitable end of it all, Stiles’ day-long, intense infatuation for hard, ejaculating cocks was somehow vanquished, the knot inside of his ruined pussy as reassuring as the arms wrapped around him were.

Derek, too, had had enough slick and milk to replenish whatever depleted liquids and energy came from such intense, hours-long sex. Still, he was exhausted, but in a good, satisfying way. One that reminded him, truly, of just how much he loved his silly little slut. Just how much he adored him, would do anything for him, etc etc.

Stiles just curled deeper into his mate’s embrace from behind, whispering to himself as much as he did to Derek, “This, this is just perfect...”

Derek smiled, and, nearly silent, muttered back, “I agree, darling.”

Come morning, Stiles would wake first, and for all the bliss and satisfaction of last night, would find a new kindle in the furnace of his loins, one that could only be put out by the giant cock still crammed partially inside of him, of course.

Derek would fuck him with the laze of semi-sleep from the side, only really ramping up at the end when the blaze of orgasm took him over, whereupon he simply sat the head of his cock in the entrance of Stiles’ still-fucked cunt, not daring to risk properly knotting him, for it was not the weekend, not yet.

They would both stumble on weary feet to the showers, where there would probably be much more fondling and touching to get the reminders of their shared lust fully out from between Stiles’ inner thighs, Derek’s well-toned abs, Stiles’ cunt gooey with a mixture of thick cum and slick, Derek’s cock still tasting of that delicious cum around his glans, and partially of Stiles’ own pussy still throbbing from the orgasm it had given it mere minutes ago.

Then Derek would be off to work, and although Stiles would be sad to see him go, he knew it was best for both of their sanities to have some time away from the other. And also to not grow too too codependent, for their wallets, for all the laundry and sheets and floors and countless other surfaces that now need doing, ugh...

But none of that mattered in that moment, when it was still night, and Stiles could rest in the warmth of his perfect alpha, basking in the incomparable afterglow that was an orgasm ringed straight from his godly cock.

Nothing mattered but the feeling of lying next to him, listening to their combined quiet breathing, the barely decipherable sounds of the springtime insects singing their own lullabies outside. Nothing but the euphoria he and his omega felt at being so full, of cock, of a twitching knot, of semen.

But most importantly of all, the feelings of movement coming from inside of his own body, ever-so-slight now that it was the dead of night, as though his pups, too, were exhausted from all of their mother’s restless movements throughout the long day. Just the slightest of stirrings, the warmth and joy he felt as he moved his hands over his own womb, especially as Derek’s joined him upon its taut surface.

And, most of all, nothing mattered more than the peace he felt from a friendship repaired, something that had seemed so difficult made nearly effortless, all from his omega finally throwing away some of his incessant worrying about everything. The knowledge that his pups would be fine and well, that everything would go exactly as planned, whatever his plan was.

Normally, Stiles would be wide-eyed and scatter-brained at the sound of a plan needing thinking, would be bewildered at everything that had happened to him, just as Scott had been. He would never shut up about how unreal his life was, for better or for worse, would never, ever stop his constant lines of spewing thoughts that went on in such rampant run-on sentences as to run right over each other, until it all piled up into one tangled ball of string of a mind.

But, clearly, the longer this pregnancy went on—hell, the longer his relationship with the wonderful alpha beside him, Derek, went on—the more Stiles was changing from the way he had previously been, until he was nearly unrecognizable, at least on the surface.

That should scare him. It probably really should.

But, instead, it just makes him smile. And he drifts off into a long, pleasant dream, one that shall be immediately forgotten as soon as he wakes to find something poking into him from behind, just as with every night before, and, God willing, every night after.

Yes, this? He wouldn’t change a thing about this. Not now, not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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